


The Bravest Belief of All (Amandi)

by Melimelo



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Peter Pan | Malcolm, Dark Wendy Darling/Peter Pan | Malcolm, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, I suppose this deserves its own tag, M/M, Not dark dark but darker than in the series, Peter Pan Has Mother Issues, Peter Pan IS Rumplestiltskin Father, Peter Pan is not old, Peter Pan/Fiona | Black Fairy mentioned, Protective Peter Pan (Peter Pan), Protective Wendy Darling, Teen Romance, Temporary Character Death, Underage because I imagine them being 17/18 and there's sex mentioned, Wendy and the Lost Boys will arrive soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 73,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melimelo/pseuds/Melimelo
Summary: A heart. That heart he wanted, that heart he needed but which he didn’t have, was all he could think about for the following days. Both his salvation and his plight. He would search for it, of course, that was a given. He would find it. No matter how long it shall take, I will. Peter believed it.For her.Then she’d be back to him. Forever.-AKA-Peter Pan is in love, truly so, but he needs a Truest Believer. Their heart, to be more precise. The very thing that doesn't fully belong to him anymore, the very same thing he can't fully give away. No one knows where, when or who that next one will be. Could be a minute, a year, a century.Doesn't matter, he can be patient. When one has forever before them, they can be patient. He can even get fate moving forward. And he'll be the one who'll get it.After all, Peter Pan never fails.
Relationships: Nibs/Slightly (Peter Pan), Wendy Darling/Peter Pan (Peter Pan), Wendy Darling/Peter Pan | Malcolm
Comments: 40
Kudos: 32





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: long note ahead, please read it in its entirety
> 
> \- First of all, thank you for clicking on that fic when the series' been over for a couple of years! In case you've inadvertently missed it: Peter Pan **IS** Rumple's dad in this fic, **but** Peter Pan is **not** a creepy old dude (sorry screen writers, that's something I can never accept). However, the relation between Peter and Fiona will be depicted - quickly, yes, but it will be a part of the overall plot.  
> If you're still here, thank you a second time!  
> I'm fully aware I'm shooting myself in the foot with this one, but I'd hate for any readers to get there unprepared. And the idea came to me one day, and it stuck. So I'm doing it, if there's even one person who's still following these fandoms interested. If so, hi :)  
> The first chapters will mainly focus on Peter/Fiona-Rumplestiltskin, and Wendy will arrive around chapter 7-8, but she will arrive, and be one of the main character and POV.
> 
> \- Secondly, concerning the Canon Divergent tag. It's very divergent. Let's say that anything after 3x03-4 is something else entirely, and everything before will probably be reinterpreted with lots of divergence. But, as I'm going to post this story in chronological order, we've got a bit of time until we get there, since we never got any glimpse of Wendy's first time (and following time because she came back) in Neverland.  
> I'll put the official disclaimer here as well: the main ideas are taken from Peter Pan by JM Barrie, there'll be obvious and less so references to the 2003 movie, and to the Once Upon a Time series. I'll also dive in the (quite famous now) AU of Wendy stays at Storybrooke (and her new name is Mandy Jill) and Peter Comes Back To Life
> 
> \- Thirdly and finally, this fic's main characters are the villains in the series x) Meaning Peter (and the Lost Boys and Wendy too) won't be darling altar children, but hopefully likeable still
> 
> (And I'm stopping my talk and leave you to the first chapter of that new Peter/Wendy fic)

A frustrated scream would have torn the eerie silence and thunderous sound of waves if Peter had any strength left in him to scream anymore. Instead, he found himself being yanked back by an invisible force this time again, prevented to go back where he had come from.

Not to stay there. Oh no. The very thought of it revulsed him, making him sick in the stomach and added weight to his feet, of spending all those years trying, wishing, yearning for nothing else than to leave, only to come back when he had finally managed to. Who knew whether he’d be able to come back there, then?

Only to get back to Tinkerbell, warn her he was alright. He had no idea how much time had passed since that morning he had woken up, the same pouch currently tied around his neck laid on his pillow, accompanied by a letter from his only friend. _I’m not supposed to give you this_ , it had said, _just as I’m not supposed to have overheard that conversation you had with your father, yesterday. I can’t tell you what it’ll do with you, but your heart will know better than I do, if it has a bit of faith, trust…_

And fairy dust. This was what she had given him, a small pouch of her own, since it was glowing green. Peter hadn’t lost any time and had taken a pinch of it, knowing full well how precious this was worth, and not wanting to ponder on what his friend would go through, should the Fairy Queen know about her actions. It would be considered stealing, from even though the dust belonged to Tinkerbell, as she was the one producing it, it only truly belonged, as did everything else, to the Fairies overall.

So he had rubbed that first pinch of dust on his chest, feeling a strange tingling sensation run to the tip of his fingers, closed his eyes, and waited. Soon enough, a lightness had taken a hold of him, and when he had opened his eyes again, he was flying.

He had left his world, then, his parents, his future, and everything as soon as he had understood that, if he believed it himself enough, he could fly. Truly fly, without wings, or anything. Just pure, unleashed belief.

He hadn’t thought, hadn’t lost one second and risked being discovered or seen by anyone. Had opened his bedroom window and had flown toward the sky. It had been early morning, and he felt as if he had flown for hours – the feeling was unrivalled and dizzied him quicker than a glass of bourbon. He hadn’t known where he was going precisely, had simply followed both where his instinct and his heart led him.

It turned out to be… somewhere. Peter had lost his marks when the cities had disappeared under his feet and the stars grew so close he couldn’t spot Ursa Major anymore. He had followed his instinct here as well and picked up the pouch of fairy dust – the only thing he had on him, despite his nightclothes – and put the rest on himself once again. Faith and trust. He had wished for somewhere to go, somewhere to stay. Had pictured a land, a space, where anything was possible.

And he had gotten it.

A small star had appeared, right before his eyes, straight on compared to where he was floating. It was small, and its light not as strong or glowing as the others, but Peter immediately understood it was his. His safe heaven, his salvation. He had flown toward it, at break-neck speed, his blood pumping impatience in his entire body, his gaze fixated upon its light until it turned almost blinding with its brightness and Peter felt at home.

It was a strange, and unknown feeling, almost surprising with its strength. Home. He had felt it, somewhat, as his dorm at college, sleeping with the other boys, had turned out to be a sort of home, but never this strongly. Never this fittingly.

Home, he was home.

Never would he leave this place, he had decided here and then.

There was only sea, with no end in sight, and Peter took several hours to notice the small rock in the middle of it, as he had felt so tired his mind had trouble staying focused on keeping himself floating. As soon as his feet touched the hard stone, he had curled himself in a ball as to not fall down and drown, and promptly fell asleep.

He didn’t know how much time he slept, that first day, but he distinctly remembered waking up to the sound of faint whispering, and this was how he saw mermaids for the first time. They were very intrigued, and had many questions, questions for which Peter didn’t know many answers, but something was clear. This place, this sea and this rock didn’t exist before, and only the bravest mermaids had decided to swim there and observe.

They had decided he wasn’t a lost sailor, for he was technically on a land, and thus had waited for him to wake up because – as it turned out – mermaids were very, very curious creatures. They seemed to think he was some kind of god, as he had told them they were in his world, and that he had come here by flying. They didn’t look like the monsters depicted by the ancient texts Peter had been forced to translate during Greek and Latin’s lessons, strange beings of women and birds, and none of them had begun to sing. They did look beautiful, however, in a mesmerizing way. Women with a fish tail, each of a different color – the more brilliant it was, the higher class the mermaid was, they told him when they noticed him looking.

The three mermaids kept him company for a while – several hours, perhaps, though Peter couldn’t know exactly – before they had to leave; they lived in a kingdom called Atlantica, two worlds away from here, because sea and sky worked the same and, as Peter could travel through worlds by the sky – which was an impressive feat for a human, if they were to be believed, hence them taking him for a god – they could travel through the seas, for every world had one.

And thus began Peter’s frustration. There was nothing – he was surrounded by nothing. Nothing but the sea, but he wasn’t a merfolk, he didn’t have a tail nor the ability to breathe under water and, as the frustration grew, so diminished his ability to fly high. One day passed this way, him stuck on that rock, his feet dangling in the water as he kept himself balanced on the small surface, and one night spent sleeping curled upon himself.

The solution came to him out of nowhere, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had been starting to get hungry, which especially showed during his sleep, for there was no way for him to have food currently. He had then dreamt of being surrounded by food, and had he woken up just so, bread, fruits and cooked meat floating around him in baskets.

Another handful of Tinkerbell’s dust hadn’t even been needed. Peter had simply closed his eyes after eating his fill and focused on turning that small rock into a larger surface, one where one could walk, run, live on. He had felt the rock move under his hands, extending, and a thrilled smile had appeared on his face even before he had completely opened his eyes. He had done so again, and again, before falling asleep once more, utterly exhausted.

The land was almost bare, only rocks – some of them forming hills, and a part was dedicated to forming a cave, where he could sleep in case of storm, though he was slowly coming to term with the fact that a storm was unlikely to form without his express belief to do so immediately. But, it had happened once, as he had been sleeping, and his imagination had broken away from reason. Though it was been magnificent to watch, he had ended up drenched.

Moreover, the mermaids had swam in a hurry to him, then, thinking he was being attacked and looking for sailors to take with them, as well as ensuring ties between their two kingdoms, as Peter’s was mostly water still, and he had agreed for mermaids to come hunt in them for sailors, should they wish to, if any were to go astray there.

Attacks hadn’t been something Peter had worried about, but the realization of someone meaning to take his world, his home, away from him had turned his gut tight and ice cold. At first, his first intention had been to go to Fairy Land and try to find Tinkerbell, who would know what to do, he was sure.

But then, he had thought better of it. Coming up with plans to protect his island, with an alliance with the mermaids and a couple of poisonous plants littering the soil, growing in bushes and powerful enough to ward away any enemy who would have set foot on shore, Peter felt he could rest.

Thus rest he did. One day, then two. Three, four, five. Six, seven.

One week. Two. Three and then he lost count. How many had passed? He didn’t know anymore. Didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t care about much, these days. Every single one appeared the same, and he wandered without any goal, any joy, anything. He was lonely. He had found his home, a place _he_ had created, where he could be free, and safe, and unscathed.

This place had always be his goal. The purpose of his life. Peter had thought, once he would finally reach it, that nothing could feel sweeter, better, snugger than strutting along its trees and rocks. It was a part of him, after all, beating on time with the very same heart in his chest.

Yet… it was empty. Hollow. Lacking.

Just like him.

It wasn’t a sentiment he liked for himself, yet it was still present. Worlds away from his birthplace, and it was still present within him.

It was maddening.

And he felt his brain turn so, as well, for how else could it be explained? How else could he explain that obsession, that need born within him, to go back where he had left? To do what? Even he didn’t know that.

Nothing ensured him, after all, that Tinkerbell would be waiting or searching for him there. All things considered, and when Peter’s mind felt sounder, there was more chance for him to find her in Fairy Land, where fairies lived, than his former one.

Thankfully, however, something was preventing him from getting there. A greater strength or, if Peter was honest with himself, the last shreds of sanity that remained to him and knew better than that twisting yearning in his gut to see someone.

There was nothing for him, back there, he reminded himself, slowly standing up on shaky legs, his body aching from the force of being yanked back and the exhaustion of spending who-knew-how-many days surging to that second star to the left. Everything here, and nothing at all there, except...

Tinkerbell. He liked to think Tinkerbell would be worried about him. He liked to think that Fairy Queen who had always prevented her from helping him believed him dead, finally killed under one of his old man’s outburst of temper or his mother’s dainty averting. He hoped she’d blame herself, then, that cruel Queen, and lose her so precious self-righteousness. But Tinkerbell was different, she had helped him when no one had. She was his friend, the only friend he had ever had, the only person beside himself he could count on.

And he couldn’t reach her. He had no way of. Even if he managed to cross that force, nothing told him she would be around where he’d look, or even when. Her life had become busier than either of them expected, those past years, and Peter distinctively remembered barely see his friend once or twice a year. The very same morning he had left, he and Tinkerbell had missed each other, as he had been fighting with his old man and then sleeping when she had reached out to him.

Now, she could be anywhere on Earth, just as anywhere in any worlds Peter had no idea of.

For if each star was one and some, like Atlantica, were only attainable through sea, Peter wouldn’t have enough of eternity to search through them all.

Gulping, he believed he would turn mad with loneliness before he’d even reach the first one. “No,” he said, then, his voice rasping and unrecognizable with how long it had been unused. It made him shudder. But, if he started to talk aloud to himself… “I can’t believe that,” he finished in a whisper, looking cautiously around him and crossing his arms.

There was no one here, though. No one more than there had been the past day, and all the days before it. Up to the sky, large and dark clouds were slowly forming, hiding it and its stars from view, as Peter’s unease deepened.

He wished Tinkerbell were here, with him. Or someone. Anyone. But no matter how much he wished it, it never happened. Peter had concluded the magic could only work to summon inanimate objects, and not friends. The thought of it being so easy, to just think up ‘I wish for a friend, I wish for a brother’ and have one appear before his eyes had the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile, though an unpleasant bitterness still soured his tongue.

‘I wish for family’ was what he had thought, he remembered, that day he had met Tinkerbell. Yet she didn’t feel like family. A friend, perhaps, with how little time he spent with her.

The dark thoughts muddled in his mind had turned the sky dark as night, while minutes ago it had been day, and for quite some time as well. The sight sent a rush of a burning something through Peter’s body and, before he knew what was happening to him, his feet had left the ground and the winds were slowly helping him toward the sky once again.

Instead of trying to cross the one that refused to be, the one that would lead him to his past, his former life, to America, its countless parties and lessons, he darted to the right. The star that shone next to it seemed innocuous, and Peter wished to try small first, in case it didn’t work.

But, to his wonder, this one brought him to an unknown forest, with talking and moving trees. Peter hadn’t taken four steps that something flung itself to his back, making him stumble forward.

“By Mab Peter!” a voice loudly said in his right ear, as arms encircled his throat and squeezed tightly. If Peter hadn’t immediately recognized the voice, he would have thought whoever it was intended to choke him to death. As it was, his hands moved under Tinkerbell’s thighs, keeping her up as his throat tightened. Presence. An embrace. He didn’t have time to relish in any of it, for Tinkerbell jumped off his back and spun him around. So small a fairy, who yet was hiding so much strength. It was unbelievable. “Where were you?”

And so comforting, Peter felt himself minutely leaning forward the hands she had grabbing his shoulders, his eyes drinking in her frowned brows and creased forehead, her messy bun, with more curls out than in, and her large blue eyes filled with mixed emotions.

He told her what happened, watching her worry blend away to awe. “I think I know why. It’s harder to travel through magic to the Land Without Magic, because it doesn’t have it,” she said when he told her about his unsuccessful attempts to find her there. Not a hint of surprise in her face as she listened to the rest of his memories, nor in her voice when she asked him, “So that was you? The star everyone saw appearing two weeks ago, that was you?”

Before he could do anything but nod, despite two weeks feeling too short a time for him to be certain, Peter saw Tinkerbell’s eyes widen before her mouth pursed in a wince as flapping of wings coming from behind him caught his attention. As he slowly turned around, his own lips pressed together at the – unfamiliar still but well-known – sight of blue dress and self-righteous fairy.

“So here you were…” Reul Ghorm said, her voice and expression dripping with disapproval. Peter almost shrugged – she had never felt anything but disapproving to him, making him wonder if she didn’t have some blood tie to his begetters. What stopped him from doing so was the way Tinkerbell tensed behind him.

Reul Ghorm was the second-in-command in fairies’ hierarchy, the Queen’s closest sister, and Tinkerbell’s teacher in her training to become a godmother. The two didn’t like each other for all that, and Peter had often be the receiver of his friend’s complaints about Reul Ghorm’s fancies and constricting rules. Thus, while having never met the fairy properly, Peter had been able to recognize her with one glance.

“… away from your home.”

“It’s my fault,” Tinkerbell announced hurriedly. “I gave him some dust to help him escape.”

“It is forbidden.”

“I know. But he was unhappy, and no one-” was doing anything, Peter completed in her stead, no matter how many times Tinkerbell had told him she brought his situation to the Queen’s and Reul Ghorm’s attention. “I had to do something. I had to help him. He’s not- he won’t do anything bad.”

“Yet he came here.”

“I don’t know where we are,” Peter said, then, his eyebrows slightly pulled together. That world looked slightly odd, it was true, but he hadn’t deemed it dangerous. Or hostile to fairies. “I didn’t chose this star in particular.”

That caught the blue fairy’s attention away from Tinkerbell, at last, and she turned fully to him. “This star?”

Realization dawned on him. The fairy facing them knew about Tinkerbell’s dust, and apparently how to find him, but she didn’t know about what it would do to him. “I can fly,” he answered, not even thinking of lying, for fear it would only worsen Tinkerbell’s fate, and demonstrating his claim at the same time.

“By the Sylph Mother…” the blue fairy gasped, “that is impossible. No one can fly without wings.”

“I can. That’s how I traveled here from my world,” he would need to think of a name, “and how I flew from Phila- the Land Without Magic, to my world, and then here.”

After pulling as an elegant face as one could, Reul Ghorm went to fly a bit apart at that, leaving Tinkerbell and him together. “Where are we?” he asked, then, his eyes not losing their confusion at her unhelpful answer.

“It’s not the best land you could have flown to,” Tinkerbell added in a whisper, eyeing both the blue fairy and the trees surrounding them. “Oz is governed by someone who calls himself the Wizard. The Wizard is a Truest Believer, too,” she added, “born in the Land Without Magic. He flew to Oz with one mean of his invention, I think. Except when he got there, he forewent any advice of his own fairy godmother and killed the last four kings and queens and all their children of all the regions of Oz, to rule himself instead. Now he wants to control magic in Oz. Has banned talking animals, plans on razing every tree that doesn’t cooperate with him. It’s a disaster, but no one can stop him. His heart makes him unstoppable, and unattainable, especially for us fairies. We’re not supposed to fight against the full power of a Truest Believer. That’s dark magic.”

“And since we both come from the same world and left it to magical ones…”

“Yes. Now, I think she thinks you came here to help him, or because the two of you have some sort of deal against fairies or magical beings. Humans like you, especially the ones who are born in the Land Without Magic, are unpredictable, which some may consider dangerous. No one wants a repeat of what happened with the Wizard.”

“So I’m the one who’ll have to pay for that stranger’s deeds.”

At least Tinkerbell looked as bothered as he was. “I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t know what we can do to stop her from sending you back to the Land Without Magic. She’ll tell the Queen that it’s for the best, it’s what they’ve all been telling the Queen since the beginning.”

“Easy,” Peter said, “I’ll talk to the Queen first.”


	2. Peter's Thinking Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ad. Warnings for the chapter: Older Woman/Younger Man and Unhealthy Relationship (I took it off from the Additional Tags because it only concerns this part of the fic)
> 
> Thank you for coming back and I hope you enjoy that second chapter!

It took more pain and pleading to get Reul Ghorm to take them to the Queen than for the Queen to agree to Peter’s offer. Queen Titania and her silent, behind-standing and down-looking King Peter never caught the name of, were more than interested of hearing the tale of the newest Truest Believer’s created world and the proposition he had for their worry.

Whether they agreed to it because of the logical argument, his charisma or his heart, Peter didn’t know, and didn’t care at all, to be fair. He was going back to his world and, on top of all, not alone. Since what the Queen and her court feared could happen to him wouldn’t, as they were all coming with him. To oversee him, officially, but Peter didn’t care about the obvious implications.

He wouldn’t be alone anymore. He would be their host, and treated with as much respect as he deserved, as their host and a Truest Believer who fairies both couldn’t harm nor go against the wishes of. His entire world answered to him and him only, and Peter was confident. And not alone anymore.

A couple of trees, the biggest, tallest ones, old oaks that looked hundreds of years ancient, were given to them. The fairies dug into their barks and build their houses this way. On the evenings, they would hold gigantic balls and receptions, so unlike and similar to what Peter used to know, but he didn’t care, so entranced of feeling, of being surrounded by all these beings to ever think of associating the world he had tried to leave for his entire life and the very same people who had made it impossible for him to do so earlier.

Solitude put things into perspective, and he was ready to accept, to compromise in order never to feel this way again.

The Queen would ask for him to sit and eat at her right, in front of the blue fairy, and be delighted with his tales, or whichever trick he had mastered on the day and would show his audience come eve.

Then, once the meal would be done, music would start to play, echoing within the silent night as the Queen would stand up and start to dance. Always first, and always alone, before other fairies would join in. As Peter swiftly discovered, there wasn’t any true place for him, then.

As Peter didn’t get the opportunity to forget, he didn’t belong with them.

No male did. They were trying to hide it as best as they could, but their wariness was evident, and extended beyond the one they had for the future his heart would lead him to. Even their King wasn’t allowed to dance with his wife, or whatever the Queen was to him, nor sit or eat or speak to anyone, and he was the only male of their own species. No, fairies treated males, of their own species mostly and of the others as well, the same way mothers treated their unwanted children. It was a rule, one Tinkerbell may have mentioned to him, once, but that he had forgotten with time.

It was never supposed to concern him.

Now, however, he was bitterly reminded of it. Now, however, it concerned him. The glitter and festive ambiance faded away the more night fell upon them all, and true faces were revealed. Compromise became harder to maintain in mind, as the feeling of being surrounded abated.

As much as the fairies and their Queen delighted in Peter’s presence, tales and magic during dinner, they never noticed once he ended up leaving their dances and playing before anyone else.

Not glancing back to them, Peter flew to a tree, far enough from their dancing that the music became a light tingling easily forgettable. Nothing but the light of the moon and stars showed to his eyes the leaves of smaller trees than the one he was perched in, one leg swinging in the air, one hand holding a small knife.

He was busy carefully carving a curve that he’ll have to hollow out as he did the precedent two, when a tingling he had never heard before rang right next to his ear, making him jerk his head up. The fairy, however, was hidden by her glow at first, shining bright and white, blinding. Suddenly, as if a candle snuffed out, or a cloud passing before the sun, the light was no more, and the branch Peter was sat on sagged slightly under the weight of another full grown human sized being.

“Are you the one we should thank for the hospitality?” the white fairy asked, her voice surprisingly low for all that whiteness of her dress and frills, glowing softly thanks to the moonlight, stark against the dark curls of her hair and the cold bark of the tree. “With the special heart?”

“I am. Peter Pan,” he added, his grip slowly loosening around his knife. His eyes darted to her face, brows pulling together slightly, but it was no use. He didn’t recall being introduced to any white fairy before. “I don’t think we’ve met…”

“Oh no, we haven’t. My name is Fiona.” Fiona smiled, her mouth staying closed and her eyes turning away which gave her an almost embarrassed look. “I don’t have a high place at court, so it’s no wonder I wouldn’t be introduced to our Queen’s friend.” She eyed him, then, as if to gauge his reaction, and her embarrassed face thankfully disappeared.

“I see. I don’t care myself. My fairy’s not high in court either.”

“Your fairy. You have a fairy godmother?”

“No, I don’t. Tinkerbell is my friend, and she’s training to become a godmother, but she’s not yet. She’s not even allowed to attend court.” Only the Queen’s closest sisters or the important fairies, such as the godmother ones, the ones whose official task was to help children, people, families even, were part of court. Tinkerbell was still Reul Ghorm’s pupil, and thus had gone back to Fairy Land. “Other than her, I don’t have any friends amongst fairies.”

Or amongst anyone else, Peter added to himself, pressing his lips together, fighting against the lump sneakily forming in his throat.

“Good,” he thought he heard Fiona whisper, pulling him out of his internal struggl. “I’ve always thought the court is a bunch of stuck-up old hags, farting higher than their asses and enamored with their own importance.”

Blinking, at first he thought he had misheard. The wind must have suddenly flown around his ears, or perhaps the liquor of ambrosia he had sipped at, during dinner, was blurring his mind. When he darted his eyes at her, though, and saw her own, shining with mischievousness, and the corners of her mouth twitching almost uncontrollably up, as if she couldn’t stop herself and was barely containing her laughter, his own, airy, shocked own spilled past his lips. She joined him shortly after, and they both sniggered breathlessly in the secret of the night.

“It’s true, though, and I’m glad you think the same as I do.”

Did he? He had never imagined the fairies and their Queen as old hags. A bit stuck-up, it was true, especially if he took into account Tinkerbell’s complaints about the blue fairy’s righteousness and remember his own annoyance at being denied of her company because of her teacher’s rule.

Yes, Peter supposed, he did think the same as she did.

“Aren’t you afraid they’d hear you?” he asked. “Aren’t you scared of punishment?”

“They won’t hear us. They don’t care one bit about us. Maybe you, a little bit…” She let her words trail off, and Peter had to object. As far as he knew, with Tinkerbell away, he could offer his head to the mermaids, and they wouldn’t blink. They were only interested in the heart beating in his chest, only entranced by the power it held. And even those were too generous words. More than half of them were terrified of it. “But not me. I’ll just have to trust the wind will keep my words for himself.”

“He shall. You can trust him.”

“Good.”

Just as he promised, Peter kept everything concerning that late in the night conversation out of his morrow’s tale. During all of it, however, his gaze kept searching for Fiona’s face amongst the crowd, wanting to share a knowing smile, or even a look. Never to find hers, however.

Not during the dinner, and not after either. Not this evening, nor the following one.

Like she had never existed, like that conversation never happened.

Had it?

Peter thought so but, true to her words, every time he wondered about a Fiona or a white fairy to the others, they never seemed to care very much, and always redirected their asks to the island’s magic.

It might as well not have.

Thus he wandered around, not feeling up to continue his carving and not truly knowing why. This was a friendship he had counted in, he supposed, since it had appeared this easily to him. Fiona seemed different from the other fairies. Closer. Friendlier.

Their conversation, as close and fleeting as it had been, had warmed Peter’s heart in a way even the presence of dozens and dozens of fairies hadn’t been able to. The truth was, he still was feeling lonely, estranged, even in his home, even with his guests, even with the entire fairy court inviting him to dinner every day. That yearning, that want thrumming under his skin for company was still there, it had never left. Except it had been soothed, thanks to that conversation, two nights prior.

It felt magical, almost out of time and reality, just like this place, his place, was, and Peter had no idea how the fairy had managed to create it, but that brief exchange of words had eased the ache in his chest. Had transformed it into something, something he couldn’t place, couldn’t name, but which was unmistakably there.

Something that rebirthed again when he turned around a bush and met with Fiona again, human sized, one hand leaning against the bark of a tree, as if she had been waiting for him.

The idea sent a rush of interest prickling to Peter’s fingertips.

“Here you are, at last,” she murmured, her lips widening into a smile. As far as they were standing, Peter couldn’t see her eyes, but her whole face seemed to glow up with the small change. So small, he thought, yet so significant. “Show me around?”

He did, gladly. Somehow, it felt different than that first visit he had made with the Queen and the entirety of her court trailing behind him, inspecting with attention and wariness how he made the bushes and trees part before them all, or a couple of magical flowers grow for these three fairies there, or a basket full of cherries for this one here.

The island, at night, had a different, particular aura. Peter surmised girls he had known, in his birth world, would have found it scary, without a doubt, but Fiona was walking next to him without a fright or a tremble, her face relaxed and her chin high. It was stranger, and even stranger that Peter found himself noticing such things, or appreciating them.

He had never cared much for the opinions of girls, before, except to make sure they were properly enchanted with him, for he liked how they would turn their silly attentions to him only. Yet Fiona… the fairy walking next to him seemed to have such a great opinion of him already, Peter didn’t want to disappoint her, or her expectations.

And she had, plenty of them. It was compelling. Each of her smiles were hard to get and seldomly granted, making the want for one build and build in Peter’s gut, almost transforming it into a vital need to. The dizzying sense of victory that rushed to his head when he would catch one was only more delectable. Like this time, when he had finally found something which properly and utterly impressed her.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, “it’ll be easier. Believe you’re holding it in your hand, and it’ll appear.”

Fiona huffed, her eyes screwing shut with concentration, but the extended hand remained empty of whatever it was she was picturing. He hadn’t wanted to know, preferring keeping the surprise of what, given the amount of possibility, she would imagine and summon for herself. For himself, once his hunger had been satiated by the floating baskets full of food and the island created, it had been the dagger he had kept at his hip since that day.

“Try with-”

“Has it occurred to you that I can’t, but not through any fault of mine? Has anyone other than you ever managed to use the magic?”

The question took him off guard. Well… no, but- “I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. You are the first one to try.”

Fiona shifted slightly closer to where he was sitting, facing her, the two of them sitting on their calves. “I do.” Peter’s heart skipped a beat when she slowly extended a hand toward it, stopping just shy of touching him. Strangely, for the first time, he wanted to press it against his chest, but had suddenly lost any ability to move, or even breathe. Hold it against his skin. His fingers twitched. “I don’t have what you have. Fairies’ magic is nothing compared to a Heart of a Truest Believer. Especially one so young.”

Gulping, Peter felt his nose scrunch at the offhand remark, after spending the last years wanting to stop growing up. “I’m not that young,” he retorted softly. He had left the Land Without Magic mere weeks after his seventeen birthday. Not an adult yet, but still not a small child either. Was Fiona seeing him only as an entertaining child? He didn’t know how old exactly she was, but he supposed after some time everyone started to feel young. “Do you think my heart’s this special?”

“Special? Peter, I think it is the most precious gift there is and will ever be. It’s a chance you left the Land Without Magic as soon as you could. The more Truest Believers grow old, the less power they hearts possess. And that’s something no one should wish. Llucky and powerful is the one this heart belongs to.”

Lucky and powerful. In his life, Peter hadn’t considered himself especially one or the other. He had never been starving, lacking clothes or a roof. Had received an education, Latin and Greek, French and Spanish, Grammar, Algebra and everything else, since he had been tall enough to be trusted in care of tutors instead of a nurse.

Yes, he supposed most would have considered him lucky and, with time, as he would have taken his grandfather’s place, powerful as well, though none of that was thanks to his heart or any personal deed of his. It had been his name. His blood.

But him, Peter? No. He had never felt powerful when he’d have to bend to escape a jug of wine thrown to his head in one of his old man’s fit of temper, or when his heart still clenched painfully when The Woman turned her eyes away and silently walked out the room every time their paths would cross. As if the mere sight of him reminded her of everything she had lost, because of him. The son.

Peter knew it all by heart. Her youth, her freedom, her happiness. Instead, she had to marry this old man that was his seer, and birth a son she had never wanted in the first place, his son, the son of that husband she had never wanted either. He knew it all without her ever having to speak one word to him, through the avoidance and the quiet disdain and the nothingness she held for him. Not even hate, not even anger. Just nothing. And Peter had tried, at first, when he had been younger. His old man he had started to avoid quickly, but that Woman… He had wanted her love, and then, when he had understood she had no love for anything but herself and her lost youth, he had settled for anything.

But even anything, she had refused it.

None of that had made him feel remotely lucky, or powerful.

His island did, however. That home where he was the master. Everything acted and happened as per his wish, here.

He had thought he wouldn’t need anything from anyone, there, but apparently had been wrong. His heart was still aching, shrinking around its hollowness.

Or was it? For the first time in his life, as he gazed at the fairy still sitting in front of him, not caring that the earth probably dirtied her white dress, Peter felt it full. Nothing felt missing anymore, not when she smiled at him like that.

“None of that would exist if I hadn’t met Tinkerbell.” Or if she had never helped him escape. Once again, Peter was more grateful to his friend than he could express, even though she wasn’t even here.

“Tinkerbell,” Fiona repeated. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“I don’t.”

“What a pity,” Fiona assured after some time, “I would have loved to meet her.”

“She would love to, as well,” Peter vowed, his words bursting with certainty. Perhaps Tinkerbell could find in her a friend, too. He didn’t tell her this, as they both stood up at the same time as if they shared similar minds, but he kept on talking through the night.

He told her about everything, even his mother whom he hadn’t spared a single thought about since the beginning of his stay here, on his island, feeling his heart soar more and more and his skin tingle where he would feel the weight of her stare. Sudden bursts of giddiness were making his feet graze the ground instead of sink into it at the numerous glances and stares thrown his way.

Was it what it felt, to be genuinely wanted and admired? Peter loved it.

Perhaps Fiona was the one they had both been waiting for, secretly, longingly.

It certainly felt so, and Peter’s mind spent the following day thinking back on those two smiles Fiona had made, that past night, and how she had looked, and what she had said, his cheeks burning with unexpected sheepishness when he turned around, he did not remember for why, only to meet a trail of robust, colorful, wild flowers growing behind each of his steps.

For her, he realized immediately, before bending down and spending the rest of the afternoon imagining even more beautiful flowers. He picked up one he had imagined without thinking, as well, finding the lack of thought courteous and nice. Deciding he wouldn’t attend dinner with the Queen, after all, he flew to the tree where they had met and waited for her, his bouquet in hand.

Waited, and waited.

Fiona never came.

Done waiting, he undertook to go look for her, hiding the bouquet in a safe spot. Obviously, he was being a bit too presumptuous.

But Fiona was nowhere to be found.

At once, Peter’s throat tightened around a growing lump, his stomach slowly filling with cold dread the more he uselessly flew around, observing every spot and turn and cave and tree. Where could she be? Was she scared? No, it couldn’t be that. Did she hate him?

Did she hate him, too?

The question, once it had been thought, didn’t leave his mind. Peter couldn’t close an eye that night, turning and shuffling endlessly, feeling his heart jerk briskly in his ribcage and his eyes burn with barely held back tears. Crying was out of the question, however. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Fiona had no reason to hate him, her to avoid him didn’t make any sense, thus she wasn’t. there must have been something else, and he would know. Patient, he just had to be patient.

Patience took him through several days, but was rewarding in the end, when he found her around a corner, facing him already. Waiting for him, like he had waited for her. Truly, it seemed like, more than a shared mind linking the two of them, a pull pushing them toward each other. He remembered Tinkerbell talking about such happenstance – true love, she had called it. It could only happen to two people from the same race, she had added, and hadn’t mentioned anything about fairies, but surely they could love, as well. They were just forbidden to do so, because there was only one male for the Queen, and weren’t supposed to mingle with any other species.

No one had ever heard of a tale between a human and a fairy as true lovers, but it was the only explanation Peter could find, for the mix of relief, pride and happiness rushing through him at the mere sight of her and, judging by the way her face lighted up when their eyes met, she was feeling the same. And Peter wasn’t an ordinary human, was he?

“Where were you?” he asked, softly into the night, counting on her as well to keep the secret.

“Does it matter?”

Well, she was here now, it was true, and he-

Before he could finish his thought, or say something, Fiona flew to him in a rush and cupped his face in her hands, sending shocked shivers up Peter’s spine, and pulled him down, so she could lean forward and take his lip between hers, kissing him.


	3. Neverland's Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Underage and slight coercion / unbalanced power due to age difference and mention of past neglect
> 
> This is also today's first chapter! Hope you enjoy it!

Sharp breath came sputtering out of his nose, as his lips were currently pressed against their counterparts and frozen as Fiona’s began moving and licking, both spreading the freeze to the entirety of Peter’s body and awakening a hunger in the pit of his gut.

That hunger Peter was half-familiar with as he was, like he had previously said, not entirely a child anymore. However, it had only ever been directed to chimera, shadows of creatures who would find favor in his eyes, never to a real girl- woman- person whose arms were hooked around his neck and whose warm skin was millimeters away from his fingers.

Here, Fiona was here, pressed against him everywhere, lips, noses, arms, chests and then suddenly, legs also, as she had been pushing him backward until his back leaned against a wall of rock. They were in a cavern, the same one he had first build to shelter himself from tempests. The safest spot in his safe heaven, Peter thought, the knowledge soothing slightly the nerves surging from everywhere. The sensation of being trapped, even though he knew he could forcibly push her away should he want to, made him bristle.

“Peter,” Fiona murmured against his lips, sending away all thought of bristling and trapping and proper, “touch me.”

His hands had been hovering near her waist, probably close enough that she could sense them here, but far enough to not touch. He couldn’t help himself. His mind, as well as his education, were screaming at him that this was too fast, too daring. Not how darlings were supposed to be courted and wooed. His body reacted suite to these.

Fiona leaned back, her doubtful stare akin to a hand squeezing roughly at his pounding heart. “Don’t you want to?”

He couldn’t have this. She sounded disappointed, and he couldn’t have it. Wouldn’t bear it. “Of course I do,” he said, then, since it seemed what she wanted to hear.

And it was the truth. What a moron he would be, if he refused such a tempting offer. It wasn’t too fast, if she was the one asking. She wanted him, he wanted her. He was right, it was true love which was pulling them closer. Fiona had probably tried to fight it, which had led her to avoid him for the past nights, before she yielded.

“Then what’s wrong? You’re,” she added, her lips pulling into a small smirk, “you’re not intimidated, right?” 

Peter scoffed as well. “Me? Never.” To prove it, he rested his hands on her waist, feeling the thick and hard cloth of her dress, like a corset, etched with dozens of pearls that made little cold bumps under his palms. “I’m not,” he repeated, more softly. More serious and assured. Steady.

“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you nights and days.”

Another splutter Peter couldn’t hold back made him cough as the tip of his ears flushed at the thought and the dozen of mental images that accompanied it. One he muffled by being the one leaning down and kissing Fiona right back, trying to pour all his bumbling thoughts and feelings and match the passion coming from her answers.

Her hands started to hurriedly untie the cloak he was wearing, then the top of his shirt, his pants, every garment that could be loosened while his own roamed across her back and sides, searching to catch a knot, in vain. While he tried to bare more skin than the displayed one of her arms and shoulders and cleavage, barely hidden of her legs, his hands greedy, hers grabbed his shirt, breaking the kiss in order to tug it off him and toss it on the ground.

Fiona’s hand shimmied inside his pants and wrapped around him, the sudden pleasure pooling to his lower belly making his knees buckle. Had he not been leaning against the solid rock, Peter was sure he would have stumbled. Each movement coming from her were unexpected, quick and sure, and her hand unfamiliar, rendering the caress thrilling and lighting ever nerve in his body.

“Take me,” she breathed out, her voice dark and low and mind-numbing as bourbon was, and there was nothing Peter could do but nod. “Take me and give me all of yourself.”

And he did. Plunged in her warmth, with trembling hands and his heart pounding in his ears, his hips rocking and rocking and rocking as his vision turned blurry with how _good_ it felt. His mind became hazy, while at the same time every sensation sharpened, the prick of her nails on his shoulders, the softness of her thigh he was clutching on, and wouldn’t it be glorious, to see the mark of his fingers on the thin skin there, by morrow. A love mark, and not a painful one. The idea crossed his mind and his hips faltered.

Here, laying under him, her head cushioned on his arm, her dark hair spread across it, her face and neck and chest flushed, she looked magnificent. And his, all his, his woman. Unable to hold out any longer, Peter leaned down and kissed her, muffling his sound of pleasure as it waved across him one final time.

They met at the cave for every following night, falling into each other’s arms and lying together, that first one having woken a hunger in his groin, shared toe to toe by Fiona, that had yet to be satiated, no matter times he had her. Months passed this way. They never grew bored of it either, and Peter resolved to not rest until he had learned all the – growing more numerous by the meetings – ways she could feel as satisfied as he was. He wanted her to forget the clumsiness he had displayed, that first night, where only his instincts had been guiding him.

Of course, no one but them were meant to know or discover those secret encounters they held as often as they could. The Queen or any other fairy getting wind of it or, worse, happening on them, would mean the sharp and brutal end of their relationship. Far from encouraging them to choose caution at the threat hanging over Fiona’s head as, as she had told Peter several times, always with her uncharacteristically serious face, fairies were not supposed to fall in love.

“I know,” Peter would answer, his voice no louder than a whisper, his chest heaving and his limbs shivering with the slowly abating pleasure still coursing in his veins, not drenched by the matter discussed. On the contrary. “Tinkerbell warned me of this, as well. A fairy can’t have friends, she said, only a task.”

“It’s different.” Fiona would tsk, and Peter inhale a sharp breath, his hand tightening around hers, or whatever he had been holding at the time. “This is worse than being friends, to them. This is treason, high-treachery toward the Queen herself.”

“She won’t find us. She won’t know. I promise.”

“And you sound very confident.”

“I should. All one need to make one wish come true here is faith and trust, and fairy dust. Between the two of us, we have plenty.”

“And a special heart.”

“You have mine.”

“Liar.”

Usually, the conversation would end there, right after that softly whispered word, and Peter would fall asleep with a lump in his throat, or rush away if their encounter hadn’t happened in the safety of the night. The first time he had heard it, Peter thought his half-asleep mind had tricked him, for what reasons could his love doubt of his love for her? They were true love, she had even confirmed it, one day! He had said nothing of it, for it hadn’t happened.

Then, when it happened again, and again, he had simply no idea what to answer to it. How to prove the evident? This was the only time where she expressed doubt about the depth and seriousness of his feelings. But how to make her see? Peter had tried to tell her, call her loving words and complimenting her on everything he noticed, blindly getting the lay of the habit, to show her, but had swiftly stopped with a wince when his attempts were met with a scoff and a dubious look.

Finally, he had opted to ignore it in appearances. Keep quiet, as he still had no idea what answer she wanted to hear, bite his tongue and close his eyes – or rush away to not get caught. The ignorance was only apparent, however. In truth, in real, deep within his gut, it was slowly eating at him. Fiona was unsure, Fiona was doubting, and he hated it. Knew too well how this felt to not abhor it with every fiber of his being. The Queen had wondered once or twice about the dark clouds that sometimes appeared out of nowhere above the island, which were inopportune in many ways should one wish to fly off, but he had managed to ease her worries about it easily.

The Queen was mollified, yet Fiona wasn’t. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Gritting his teeth, at a loss for what to do and hating it as well, Peter sighed silently, before wondering aloud what she meant by that. It would be fine, he told himself when he felt her tense. He would make it up to her in a blink, as she huffed, the mist of her disquiet floating above them before spreading out in the cave, mingling with the ambient air. They loved each other, he loved her, he knew it. She turned to face him, her eyes unreadable. It would be fine.

“It doesn’t belong to me,” she clarified, though Peter truthfully didn’t need her to. The cold of the cave was slowly seeping through his skin, and turning colder. So did Fiona’s voice. “It’s all there. You’ve given it all to this place. Look,” she seethed, raising a hand when he opened his mouth to try and deny it. “See. Hear. It’s everywhere. But not for me, no matter what I do.” With horror, Peter saw her shoulders shake. “You gave it all away.”

He did, it was true. And never would he regret it. “This is my home.” His home, his safe heaven, a place where he belonged. And yes, he had poured his entire heart in it, to make it appear. To make the dream, the belief that there could be a place for him in the universe, happen before his eyes, under his hand.

“Loved.” She scoffed, but the sound reaching Peter’s ears was harsher, vicious, for the first time. “What good shall it give me, to be loved if the Queen discovers us? Do you have any idea of what I’m risking, to be with you?”

He did, of course he did. “This could be your home, too.”

“This is not an answer, Peter Pan.”

And, on those words and without waiting for another answer, she flew away from their cave, without a look back. As fast as he rushed outside, his pants and boots and shirt in place in case any fairy were to flutter around, she was already gone. Where to, he was unable to say, or even guess. He merely hoped she had stayed. The sky was dark with clouds, the beginning of a storm, fueled by his distressed state, and there were no fairies on the horizon, nor rising toward the hidden stars.

She must have stayed. Why would she leave?

All night he searched for her, looking through the gust of wind violent enough to whoosh him slightly above the earth, drizzle seeping through his clothes, and then soaking them, never stopping, never abating. The island and elements reacting to his emotions, just like she had said.

The knowledge didn’t instill the same reaction in him. Didn’t make him feel safe the way it used to be, to have the proof of his control over his environment. Instead, it tasted tainted, spoiled from Fiona’s grievance. She considered these the proof Peter had been trying to refute at first. Yet there was nothing to refute. His island, his world needed his heart to work, to exist. It brought protection, and magic, and allowed Peter – as well as the fairies, whom Fiona was a part of; if his world didn’t exist thanks to his heart, they never would have met – to live in it.

It was his home, and he was persuaded Fiona would end up seeing it as hers, too.

When morning came, stumbling with tiredness from roaming north and south, east and west all night, Peter put his search on hold and was about to pad to the nearest tree, lay down and sleep there, when a sudden, shrill and affronted-sounding shriek pierced the sound of leaves rustling. 

Adrenaline shot him upright and his hand flew to the dagger at his hip. It took him several minutes to find the source of the and he barreled in the middle of a circle formed by pearl-clutching fairies, joining the Queen herself, whose face looked worryingly white, and Fiona facing her, her eyes lost somewhere, unseeing the world around her, her jaw slack but a glimpse of something gleaming in them.

Nothing that could be any help for him. At least none of them looked attacked, or dying. “What happened?” he asked, when a burial silence fell upon the clearing.

Out of the corner of his eye, as his question hadn’t primarily been meant to her, the Queen slowly turned to him, her mouth distorted in disgust, or anger. She found out, Peter immediately thought, dread cooling his stomach and making his vision sharpen. His hold tightened around his dagger’s handle, ready to defend her whatever may come, just as he promised. “Shame and disgrace on you, Peter Pan,” the Queen spat, not looking nor sounding regal in any way, “and on that monster you’ve created.”

This wasn’t helpful in the least, and Peter stayed puzzled, stepping between the two fairies just in case. Though this last move wasn’t needed, as Fiona didn’t seem to have heard

“We are leaving. You are to remain here, Fiona, and never contact us again. This is non-negotiable.” Even though Peter’s want to negotiate and argue with them was almost absent, he still nodded, as the Queen had fully turned to him for that last sentence.

As if summoned, then, all fairies flew toward the sky. Sixth star to the left, Peter absentmindedly noticed, to a Land called the Fairytale Land. Until there were only the two of them left.

Strangely, it didn’t bother Peter more than this. To be exactly true, he didn’t care. Fiona was still there, despite her behavior starting to worry him, only lessened by the somewhat manic grin slowly spreading across her face.

“What happened?” he asked again, even though he knew the answer. He had to repeat the question a couple of times to finally get her attention on him, her eyes darting and widening slightly, as if only discovering his presence.

“I’m pregnant with your child.”

She whispered something right after, and Peter saw her lips move without hearing any sound than the stilling one of his heart.

His feet stayed stuck to the ground, his legs heavy as if made of lead, despite his brain struggling to make sense of the words, and what they implied, launching the want, no, the need to put as much distance as he could between him and this- this. To run. He wanted to run.

But Peter stayed still. “You,” he cleared his throat, his voice too hoarse, “you- but you- you said only the Queen could get offspring?”

That was what she had said. He could still hear the words, spoken to him. Had she lied? Why would she lie? If he were to think more about it, he was sure Tinkerbell might have mentioned something similar. They couldn’t have lied.

“I know. That’s what I thought also,” she still sounded as shocked as he was feeling, “but apparently this is the reason why fairies are not supposed to lay with men if they are not Queens.”

“But you said you… had known other men.” Gulping, Peter forced his hand to calmly slide his dagger back to its sheath and let go of the handle. He didn’t like the sound of it, hadn’t liked it when she had first told him either. It is different, Fiona had assured him, and a long time ago, and Peter wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea.

He couldn’t imagine himself ever loving other girls than Fiona.

“I have. I simply imagine they were not as special as you are, Peter.” This time, the gleam in her eyes radiated evident happiness, and the way she pressed did strange things to Peter’s stomach and heart. “My very own Truest Believer, who’ll love me wholeheartedly. This is how this happens for you humans, right? Babies love their mothers? It is in their nature. Right?”

Fiona’s candid inquiries, wide eyes and slightly raised brows sent a pang to his chest. Finding his voice suddenly too tight to speak, Peter only nodded. They do, yes, sometimes despite everything. “So… you’re not angry?”

“I’m not. I can’t wait.”

Wait, Peter found that he couldn’t either. Yet both had to, for the following months. During those, Peter spent hours and hours gazing upon Fiona and her growing belly, a mix of apprehension and wonder at the softness of her smiles and the gentleness. It made something yearn within his gut to witness it given, as well as soothed him.

At first, the mechanics of how time would work bothered him slightly, and Peter dedicated days on the matter, until he assembled the answer. The magic did allow for the baby – their child, their child – to grow while stilling for the rest of them. As nearly an official adult, Peter wouldn’t grow a single day more than his current age; while as possessing the body of one, if not the mind and experience, Fiona. As a growing child, however, the baby would be given the choice – taken by Peter and Fiona – to either grow or not until he would reach this nearly-a-grown-adult stage where the process would stop by itself if not stopped before.

As his concentration became more divided as Fiona could walk and fly less and less easily, with their baby growing larger and heavier, their home’s first defense was breached for the first time, by a ship. Peter hurried to the shore, somewhat both relieved when he met with two idiots, too proud to listen to his warnings, thankfully leaving after allowing him to witness the true effects of his Dreamshade and spring, and not coming close to where Fiona was hiding herself.

The close call didn’t pass unnoticed, however, and Peter spent days and nights improving. He shan’t want any company than the very one currently in their home. No sailors, and no fairy court. He didn’t need anyone but Fiona, and the baby they were about to have.

The baby who was born in the middle of the night, after hours of pained groans and abrupt refusals for his help. Both Fiona’s and his. The most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen, ever held.

Swallowing tightly, he managed to tear his eyes away from his son to Fiona before handing him to her, not feeling sure enough to hold him for this long yet. But Fiona didn’t make any move to take him. instead, she barely spared a glance to the quietly whining infant, her mouth pursed, the corners turned down and her brows furrowed. Disappointment clearly written all over her face.

“He doesn’t have it,” she spat. And left.


	4. Fitting Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is today's second chapter, so don't forget to read the previous one :)
> 
> Enjoy!

“What is that?”

The same shriek reached him, though this time Tinkerbell half-whispered it, after he had shushed her too loud panic. The bewildered and panicked alternating flashes on her features were still there, though Peter couldn’t fathom why. Lots had changed since the first, and last, time his friend had stepped foot there. Neverland had a name, more trees than it used to have, with all the rain falling upon its ground, no more fairy court, no more Fiona either, but a toddler. His son, playing a bit farther away, thankfully keeping his small ears out of Tinkerbell’s shrieking reach.

“He’s my son. Now, to go back to that book. You say it has information on the next Truest Believers since I turned like the last one. Where is it exactly?”

But Tinkerbell didn’t look like she had heard him at all. In fact, her face had turned worryingly pale, and her gaze hadn’t shifted from “Your son,” she repeated, in a strange, monotonous tone. “By Mab Peter… this isn’t funny!”

“The book, Tinkerbell.”

“Yes, yes. It’s in the Queen’s office. The only ones who can access it are the Queen herself, and I’d give my right wing her precious sister has a key, too. But they’d never give me a key, and especially not with my own reputation concerning Truest Believers. I’m regarded as evil as the Wizard’s godmother, while we’re neither one, nor the other.” She shrugged, shaking her head to herself and sighing loudly.

“You don’t know how anyone could read it?” She glared at him, wordlessly. “Just to read it. I have no use of stealing a book belonging to the fairies. I just want to have a look at it. Five seconds top.”

“I answered your question, now you do mine. What’s that?” She pointed again to Rumple.

“Please, Tinkerbell. It’s important. Capital, even. I’ll answer all your questions after, I promise.”

“I don’t know, alright? I imagine the only way you could get to the office is if you managed to seduce the Queen herself.” Tinkerbell snorted as Peter’s shoulders sagged. There was no way he could do this. Even stepping a single toe inside the fairies’ realm would be akin to signing his death warrant, with how they all parted ways. Besides, he had no wish at all to seduce any fairy except the one he missed more every hour. “Why do you have a son, Peter? And how did-”

“I named him Rumplestiltskin.”

The new information that was his name stopped her for a moment, and she tilted her head to the left, considering it. Peter couldn’t help but await her verdict with impatience. It was too late to change it, the boy already used to and answering to it, but she was the first person to hear it, that wasn’t the two of them.

“Special. Outstanding. I like it.” They both nodded in approval, Peter’s shoulders relaxing minutely with relief. “The name. I don’t like that you have a son. How can you have a son? Where does he come from?” She grumbled something unintelligible when his only answer was to eye her pointedly. “Whose is he?”

With a familiar lump growing in his throat and knotting into his stomach, keeping his gaze away from his friend’s face, Peter told her what happened. Told her about Fiona.

“A fairy? But that’s impossible!”

“It’s not,” and they had the proof right before their eyes, “she’s been banished for this, and the court left as soon as they found out.” It was just the two of them, now, almost like it had been in the beginning. Rumple was making the solitude bearable. Without him, Peter had no idea what he would have done.

He was tired, so tired.

“Bani- where is she? Take me to her, Peter, I swear I’ll have words with her.”

“She’s not here.” Hadn’t been since she gave birth, and damn how he missed her.

“Not… Well, when will she be back?”

Rumplestiltskin had a similar question, a much natural one Peter found, one he shared both the demand and the lack of answer.

He doubted Tinkerbell would allow herself to be distracted by a new toy or adventurous game. Half his mind wanted to try nonetheless, while full well knowing it would be useless.

So he settled for what he knew. “She’ll be back,” he said, his voice soft, low and sure. “She’ll come back. She has to.” She was gone for so long, already, and he had no idea what had happened to her. His first instinct had been to follow her, search for her, but Peter had quickly discovered a baby, a newborn, didn’t like being left on its own. Any search had to be postponed indefinitely so, as he couldn’t carry Rumplestiltskin everywhere. “She’s his mother. She’s going to want to see her baby.”

She was different. He mustn’t forget that she was different. Mothers loved their children, isn’t that what she had told him, when they had learnt? Wholeheartedly.

Peter’s own mother had been a mistake, not the rule. Not the rule.

And he wanted her here. And not just because he felt more and more out of his depth with the concept of raising a baby. He had no idea how to raise a baby. All he had in mind were two examples of what he didn’t want to be for his son, but those never carried him very far. The rest, he had to guess on his own, and the results were often catastrophic. But he also missed her, missed the familiar, comforting presence she carried, had especially at the end of her pregnancy, in the last days when everything had seemed perfect. Missed her like one could only dream of being missed.

They both did.

As if being summoned out of his play just by Peter’s thoughts, Rumplestiltskin let out a pitiful cry, calling for him.

“He’s bwok’n,” he bawled, holding the indeed broken straw doll. The poor child was clutching it to his chest, his cheeks red and tear stricken, as if grieving the loss of a brother.

“It’s fine, you just need to imagine him back together, like I showed you. Here, calm down, let’s try.”

It took a couple of minutes for Rumple to stop hiccupping, Tinkerbell first flying awkwardly above them, back in her fairy form, before muttering her goodbyes and going back to her lessons. Peter watched her fly away with a pang in his heart, his shoulders sagging at his friend’s so small free time. He hadn’t even asked her how she was doing.

But there were other things on his mind, mainly how to make his son use Neverland’s magic for himself. Waiting for him to concentrate, Peter repeated the steps slowly. Rumple’s brows furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth pursed into a pout, but the doll’s broken parts remained apart.

“I can’t,” he whined, puffing and throwing the head and chest away in a small fit. “I wanna go to Mama. When’s she comin’?”

“Not yet. Try again.”

“It won’t!”

“Try again,” Peter repeated, putting the straw doll top and bottom back in his hands. “You’ll succeed.” Fiona hadn’t, it had been true, but Rumple was different. Even if he didn’t have his heart – although Peter was still on the side that this could change, that the Heart could wake up in a couple of years, for who knew if it hadn’t been the case for him – even if he wasn’t a Truest Believer, he was still his son. His blood. That had to mean something. “This is our home, my magic. You have to be able to use it too.” 

Obeying with only a little grumbling, Rumplestiltskin tried again, to no avail this time again. It never worked, whatever it was they set their eyes on for the day, for Peter made a point of making him try every day. The results were often as tiresome for father as they were for the son, but Peter was determined. Rumplestiltskin was his son, he had to be special.

Not special enough to keep his mother by his side, but special, nonetheless. The son of a Truest Believer and a fairy. There had to be something.

Years passed, more easily counted with how quick Rumplestiltskin was growing, yet nothing changed. Nothing appeared. Have patience, Peter would remind himself, but it was getting harder by the day. Should Fiona come back now, Peter would only have to present to her a weak, chickenhearted little boy, clinging to Peter’s shadow and asking for him days and nights, unable to make magic or see Neverland’s wonders for what they were.

The more time passed, the less Peter’s son behaved like a son of his supposedly should, and Peter’s patience was wearing thin.

“Dada, dada, wake up!” A couple of hiccups and two hands shaking Peter’s laying form with as much strength a half-sleepy five-year-old could muster. “Hadda bad dream…” He pinched his lips together hard to hold back a sigh as his exhausted mind made four glows appear above their heads. The glows were supposed to stay all night above Rumple’s, supposedly guarding him from nightmares and comforting him should he wake up in the middle of the night, but sometimes Peter would fall deeply asleep and forget them.

That made them disappear. And waking him up was the next best thing Rumple had found.

“It was just a dream.”

“But,” apparently Rumple had things he wanted to say, “you said dreams always came true here.”

“They only do if you believe in them strong enough. Don’t believe your nightmares are real, and they won’t come true.” He couldn’t hold back the light snort at the sudden fearful way the boy widened his eyes, the white of them glistening in the night.

“When’s Mama comin’ back?”

Another sigh built up in Peter’s chest, though this one he couldn’t muffle entirely. The question would be asked at least once a day, if not every five minutes, digging deeper and deeper into his already wounded chest to yank out the unchanged answer.

“Soon.”

“I wanna Mama. Tell me how she is again! Tell, dada, tell!”

“But I’m tired,” Peter pointed out around gritted teeth, feeling his ears warm slightly at the definitely whiny tone of his voice.

He had taken on telling Rumplestiltskin about Fiona, everything he could recall of her. To be true, although Peter despised thinking too long about it, there were less and less he remembered about her, until sometimes Rumple would be the one correcting him, while never having been in the same world as her since his birth.

It gnawed at him, to not be able to recall the exact curve of her smile or sound of her voice. Only the feelings she still instilled in him. This was all he had, now.

Yet his love didn’t fade.

Theirs was true, and the hardships they were facing and overcoming only sealed the knowledge in his mind.

Usually, he relished in the opportunity to talk about Fiona, Rumple loved them as well, always more than eager to listen to anything which was related to his mother – that was something Peter had made himself sure of, that Rumple wouldn’t blame her for _anything_. He never mentioned the reason his mother wasn’t here, with them. Tonight, though, his eyes were stinging and blurry with tiredness, his tongue slushy, his head heavy.

So Peter did the first thing his hazed brain could think of. There wasn’t anyone but him on the entire island and its sea able to calm his boy and watch over him, so he just had to tear himself in half. One half would sleep while the other would keep Rumple company. Getting his dagger out so there would be a resemblance, Peter used the last bits of his conscious state to follow the trace along his feet, where his shadow began, while focusing on giving it consistence.

It was something he was used to do, had done so countless of time to Rumple’s imaginary friends. Figures, shadows of children for Rumple to play with.

“Look after him,” was the last thing Peter said before falling asleep on his spot, his boy’s awed gasp sending him to sleep.

The Shadow became a great help, having no need to sleep, eat or rest, and no end of patience once Peter gave it a task. Rumple wasn’t scared of it, because it looked and sounded like Peter, and the two glowing lights in place of its eyes soothed the boy’s fear of the dark.

Thanks to his Shadow taking some of his duty, he managed to find time for himself. To mainly look into his and Fiona’s cave’s strange appearances, that he had named the Dream Cave. Glimpses of what looked like rooms, coming from who knew where, bedrooms where boys were sleeping, some in large beds, others curled on the floor.

He had noticed the fleeting appearances long ago, but couldn’t bring Rumple there, as the cave’s entryway was guarded with bushes of Dreamshade, remnant from the time it had hidden Fiona’s and his regular, but secret, meetings, which the boy would not fail to come too close of and hurt himself with.

This was where his Shadow found him, one morning. “He asks for his mother again,” it announced, as it sometimes did out of its own volition.

Sighing, Peter shrugged. Rumple had asked him the same question as he woke up, that very same morning, then at breakfast. His answer wouldn’t change.

“I could watch over him,” the airy voice whispered, the words coming to him as clear as if they were spoken right next to his ear, while his Shadow floated near the entrance. “While you’d go look for her. A couple of days.”

He had thought of this. Brows furrowing slightly, Peter turned to stare at his Shadow. “How do you-”

“I am you, and you are me. I know what you feel, perhaps not what you think, but I can guess.”

Thus, the following day, Peter began his search by the twenty-fourth star to the right. Fairyland. Fiona was banished from there, but Tinkerbell wasn’t, and Peter had hope his friend would help him.

“I’ll tell you if you tell her to come see me at once.”

“She can’t, I already told you. And don’t. I don’t know why you sound so angry at her but-”

“You don’t know? How can you not see-”

“Tinkerbell. Please.”

That had the merit of interrupting the furious rant he could see building up beneath her eyes. “Fine. Fine. One day you’ll listen to me,” she pointed one finger at him, ignoring his light snort if not for the way the right corner of her mouth twitched up. She found Fiona’s location more swiftly than Peter would have imagined, making something twist in his belly.

A remote region of Oz, of course. Where the fairies would never flutter a wing. Not wasting any more time, Peter flew there, finding the spot and cabin.

His heart stopped when he finally saw her. She hadn’t changed one bit, and he couldn’t think of how dreadful he must look, with bags under his eyes and heartbreak all over his face. “Oh,” she said, her voice the best sound he had ever heard. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take you back.” Why else would he come for? Do? What other goal was in the universe besides getting his family back together? “Fiona, I…”

“Take me back?” Her lips curled. “Why would I go back with you? Your heart is still that island’s.”

“For him then,” he amended, gritting the words past his teeth. As much as it didn’t sit well with him, Rumple had to be first in her eyes. She was his mother. “His name is Rumple and he asks about you, about when you’ll be back every single day of-”

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” she breathed out his name in rapid succession, shaking her head and pressing her lips together, as if she were disappointed in him. “What use do I have of a common child? I thought you were smarter than this, but apparently I was wrong about this too. It is a heart I want. A heart of a Truest Believer, all for myself. You could have given me yours, but you’ve already made it all belong to this rock of yours.” She shrugged, the sharp movement of her shoulders stabbing him straight to the heart. That heart, that still belonged to her, even figuratively so. Her half-blurred words barely made any sense to him. “It’s alright. If it’s not yours, then it’ll be someone else. I can wait.”

“Why would you want for this heart?”

“You have no idea, do you.” It didn’t even sound like a question. “Of the power such a heart possesses. Humans never do,” her voice turned audibly bitter then, “yet they still get it. I’ve seen you waste it on this thing you call home but which will never be as great as all I could have done with such a heart. Now leave, little human. Don’t bother me again. You have nothing I want.”

A heart. That was what she wanted. “I could get one for you,” Peter offered, a last attempt to freeze the distance that was growing between them, joined by aborted, stammered others. About him. About Rumple. “Maybe his heart will change! Maybe it needs you, with him, to turn him into a True Believer.”

“It doesn’t work like that. You’re either born one or you’re not at all.”

True love, then, and compromise. About forever. “Anything, I’d do anything.” 

“Nothing I want,” she repeated, clearly enunciating each word before sending him away, pushed by a force Peter had been both unprepared and unwilling to withstand.

It didn’t matter. He’d find another heart, one that’ll fully be hers, and that she’ll use as she’ll see fit. Then, she’ll come back. For him. For him and Rumple. Rejected, but not discouraged, Peter flew back to Neverland, his head boiling with thoughts and beginning of plans.

A heart. That heart he wanted, that heart he needed but which he didn’t have, was all he could think about for the following days. Both his salvation and his plight. He would search for it, of course, that was a given. He would find it. No matter how long it shall take, I will. Peter believed it.

For her.

Then she’d be back to him. Forever.

A plan began to be put together, carefully and clumsily, as no one knew when or where the next True Believer would be born, or what he would look like, or how to find him, when a delighted shriek resonated, carried over by the wind, interrupting him.

He’s done it, Peter immediately thought, rushing to where he knew Rumple was playing, waiting to see what the boy had made appear. “What’s-” The words died in his throat when he came close enough, his hands turning clammy and his heart too loud as his eyes darted to Rumple’s arms clinging around his mother’s waist. Had she found her heart already? Was she here to stay?

At last.

Peter lowered himself back on the ground, almost not daring entering the perfect picture just yet, first wanting to relish in the sight as he should have been able to for the past years. How long had it been? He didn’t have the heart to count.

“Look!” Rumple cried, his cheeks budging and flushed, gazing at his mother adoringly, as he was wont to do every time Peter would tell him about her. “Mama!”

“What are you doing here?” Peter breathed out, forbidding himself from blinking in case it was just an apparition. A dream.

But no, it did feel like reality.

“You said someone wanted to see me,” she said as she stroked the back of her palm along Rumple’s cheek.

Rumple. She came back for Rumple, not for him. Somehow, however, Peter found he didn’t mind. Actually, he found his chest warmed just as if it were for him. Perhaps even more so, a part of his mind supplied.

“I won’t stay, though,” Fiona added, shattering both Rumple and his matching smiles and hopes.

“You haven’t found it yet.”

She scoffed, not hearing the whine coming from her son, nor seeing the way his small hands grabbed the white frills of her dress, to keep her near, within reach, for a moment longer. “It’s not something that happens every century.”

Every century?

They would have to wait another century to have her back?

He was about to say something, anything, to keep her longer, when her eyes softened and killed any words he might have wanted to tell. She turned to Rumple, stroking his cheek again. “Don’t cry. You can come with me, if you want.”

Peter’s gut turned cold as he watched Rumple’s – his son, his boy – eyes lose every trace of tears as if it had been wiped away from him, while it usually took Peter hours and hours to get him to smile again, without the use of Pan and Laddie, the two imagined friends Peter summoned the most often and who he had baptized after him and the nickname Peter sometimes gave him, when they would play together, and the brightest beam spread on his little face. “I can?”

“Of course. Children do need a mother’s love, don’t they?” Her eyes darted to him as she spoke the words, though he imagined she already knew the answer.

Still, despite knowing it as well, Peter made an aborted, desperate jerk forward, his hands tightening around nothing, hidden at the small of his back. That didn’t stop Fiona from bending down and scoop her son in her arms, the image perhaps what Peter stop from breaking it, but it did call her closer.

Fiona walked toward him, Rumple’s head tucked on her shoulder, shifted his weight on her arm to pull Peter closer with her other. Their kiss tasted like Peter imagined happiness tasted like, over too quickly, but lingering on his lips as if it had lasted for centuries. Etching the feeling in his memory, Peter’s eyes finally fluttered open. “Help me find the Truest believer,” Fiona whispered, confirming in that low voice of hers that send every nerve of his alight, “and I might reconsider.”

She turned around, her eyes shining with satisfaction at his fleeting nod Peter grabbed her wrist. “You’ll be mine, then?”

“Only if you find it first.” Her eyes darted to Rumple who was still hugging her with all his might, before adding in a murmur, “and you just lost a valuable lead.”

On those last words, with a last, almost unrecognizable look coming from Fiona and a cheerful “Bye, dada,” from a waving Rumple, she carried their son away, to the sixth star to the left, somewhere in the Fairytale Land. Rumple’s straw doll lying forgotten on the ground, where the rest of his family had stood, right in front of him, mere moments ago.

Leaving him utterly alone, once more.

But not for long, Peter promised himself, watching his Shadow float uncertainly above him, expressing the gut feeling screaming at him to never let either go out of his sight. Out of where he knew he could protect them.

For he, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily, usually for my stories the first chapters are the easiest I find to write.  
> For that one, it was absolutely not the case.
> 
> But those chapters are done, now, and we're moving toward the (in my opinion) better part: the following ones!


	5. Payback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Hamelin episode, but different from what the series showed us!  
> Hope you enjoy it!

No one in the small, sordid room paid any attention to Peter as he came inside and kicked his boots together to dislodge the mud that had stuck on the leather. It may be dirty and unwelcoming, but at least it was warm and loud. The presence of people, even if they were mostly adults, old men half-drunk on some sort of beer, relaxed him.

He wormed his way to an empty table, made for one, and ordered something to eat and to drink. The flight to arrive here never failed to exhaust him and he found himself ravenous, even if he had eaten before leaving. He found himself spending more time than he would have imagined in nearing Lands, his search for a Truest Believer at the forefront of his mind, of course, but also because of the solitude on Neverland taking its toll on him.

He’d go to this or that world, anywhere really – except the Land Without Magic, which he still couldn’t fly to – mingle in the population for a few hours, listening to conversations from people he had never met or seen or imagined before, trying to picture their lives and blend in.

And glean all the information he could on a birth of a Truest Believer, too. Of course.

Rumple and Fiona had left quite a long time ago, and Peter didn’t forget the agreement he and Fiona had. Find a Truest Believer first, and she’d come back. It was like a treasure hunt, and he was determined to win. For Rumple, too. According to Tink, quite a few years had passed in the Fairytale Land, if they had even remained there, and he had no idea how old his boy was, now that Neverland’s magic had no effect on him. Cringing internally, he imagined him old, his stomach twisting as if he were about to get sick at the picture mingled with the few remnants Peter had of his own old man, creating a horrendous and fetid face.

Travelling around soothed the distaste at that unreal face, which faded amongst the countless ones Peter saw then, as well as the loneliness that had taken a hold of him, and never left, no matter where he went, for he always came back.

To help it fade faster, Peter spent all the time he could with the mermaids, swimming with them and listening to their tales and eyeing their own treasures – precious stones, colorful coral, gold and jewels they had stole from a shipwreck and drowning sailors. And, one particular day when that twisted not-Rumple face hadn’t wanted to disappear, he had imagined the Indians.

He had given them the north-west corner of the island to settle down. Their chief, a princess named Tiger Lily, was an equally skilled warrior as him, and their session of sparring would be endless. She skillfully watched over her small village, the families in them who would reunite every evening, after spending the day together as well, and eat and dance joyfully, without a care in the world.

Peter spent as much time as he could with them, but that didn’t quell the longing for company as much as he hoped it would. There was no surprise, no wonder, no excitement, for all of them came straight out of his imagination and acted exactly as Peter imagined they would.

Sometimes, he remembered those two sailors who had come. He didn’t know from where, but it didn’t truly matter. The thought of people, but wanted, welcomed people this time, coming to Neverland and _staying_ , this time, had grown in a corner of his mind. People like the boys who visited the Dream Cave during their sleep, and the bravest ones, the ones who dared to come outside the cave, the ones with who Peter showed around, talked with while they were asleep. The ones who had to be back to the cave before they would wake up in their world, otherwise they would never be able to come back, and who left with dragging feet and a longing expression. The ones who, for any reason or another, didn’t want to leave.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he thanked the girl who brought him a plate of something that looked like chicken pie and mashed potatoes, a piece of strange-looking bread and a jug of beer and relaxed on his chair, leaning back and enjoying the buzzing noise of conversation as he dived at his plate.

“Lest we all catch them and cut their little throats, there’s nothing we can do. Ask your boy to work better!”

Peter’s head perked up and he glanced behind his shoulder to the table where the unexpected words had caught his attention. It was far from his own, but the men were loud and, as soon as one of them had begun to talk, a strange silence had fell upon the formerly raucous room. A chief of some sort, then, Peter’s mind supplied. He took a gulp of that strange beer, holding back a grimace at the disgusting acrid taste, his eyes looking for the man himself, and not just the table as the bartender shouted for some boy to heed Mr Lude’s warning. He surmised he was the taller, best clothed one – adults were predictable that way.

“Need anything else?” the girl asked him, coming to stand close to his table. Peter glanced to his plate, wondering for a second if she had caught him staring as his plate was still unfinished.

He cleared his throat, not wanting his voice to sound too rough because of disuse. He wasn’t at the point where he needed to talk loudly to himself yet, even if he spent hours on his own, and thus didn’t have many opportunities to speak during his days and nights. “Who are they talking about?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the table as his hand fell to his hip in what he hoped was an innocuous move. Perhaps he should think of moving his dagger in a more unexpected place than his hip.

Still, by that question, he declared himself a stranger to the town – if not the entire land if they were talking about a war – so it was better to have a weapon handy. Not that he had ever used it for anything else than sparring playfully with Tiger Lily, or an Indian boy that one time she had been nowhere to be found. But he knew he had to be alert, for his own sake, despite not having to for a long time.

Don’t tell your name. Don’t stay too long. Don’t answer too many questions. Don’t be noticeable. Don’t drop your guard. And, by Mab Peter, be careful. These were all advices Tinkerbell had told him and, albeit he had rolled his eyes at her and flicked her nose, his brain had still memorized the words.

The girl, when he glanced up and met her eyes, was smirking condescendingly at him. “You’re not from around here, are you? It’s wide known we’re being infested,” she added, not waiting for an answer to her question, nor a confirmation. “They’re talking about the rats.”

“The rats?”

The girl shrugged and something glinted in her eyes. Suddenly, Peter realized she didn’t look one day older than him. “They’ve been trying to find a solution to get rid of all the rats for ages. So, that’s not why you’re here? I heard the mayor sent flyers to all the neighboring towns.”

“Don’t know how to read,” Peter told her, half-shrugging himself and turning back to his plate of food. But the girl seemed to take that for an invitation to talk some more, as she leaned her hip against the table.

“Well, we’ve had some try their hands at it, but everybody failed.” She sighed loudly and, for a dreadful moment, Peter thought she was about to drag the nearest chair and sit down next to him. “If I knew how to get rid of the rats, though, I’d ask for four hundred of gold coins, and I’d leave all of this behind me.”

“Four hundred of gold coins?” he repeated, as his first reaction was drowned under the shouting call of “Boy! Go up and wash those stairs as I’ve told you to!” Peter wasn’t familiar with currencies in all the kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest, but this certainly sounded a lot. He scoffed internally, his eyes darting to the Mr Lude, sitting at the other table, who was probably the mayor the girl was talking about.

“That’s what the last one asked for. The reward is to be discussed with the mayor, but, until today, he has never refused anything. Why? You interested? Everyone has failed, you know.”

Peter didn’t answer and, after a few seconds where the girl looked like she was trying to keep the conversation running, someone shouted for her to stop loitering around and come help in the kitchen. He finished his plate and his jug silently, making up his mind.

He didn’t known how long he could push his luck, but decided to try here, and now. He had never left Neverland for longer than a few hours for him – which sometimes turned up to be a few days or only mere seconds on Neverland, according to the mermaids – and had been thinking of trying for some time, now.

He tossed a few coins he had pictured on Neverland – the first time he had gone on his own to another world, he had forgotten to bring some way of payment and had to fly away to escape being caught and having his hand cut off, as it was customary for thieves – and walked to the table in the middle, where Mr Lude and some friends of his were talking and drinking.

“Yeah?” Mr Lude said, his back straightening when Peter approached and his eyes narrowing slightly, probably trying to see his face that he still had hidden under a hood. Peter preferred keeping it hidden, as much as he could, for seeing his face often led people to underestimate him, or push him aside. He did look young. But these men, as much drunkards as they may seem, could be useful.

“About the flyers,” he said, speaking slowly. The mayor had a hopeful glint on his eye as he looked Peter up and down. “Is it really true that the reward is to be discussed and agreed upon?” he asked. Peter couldn’t care less about gold.

As for the rats, well, it would only serve as a trial shot. First rats, and then a Truest Believer. And if he failed, he could always fly away, and no one would be the wiser. But he wouldn’t fail. Faith and trust.

“If you manage to get rid of the rats, then yes, sure. But I’m warning you, you’re not the first one to try. Those filthy beasts always come back.”

“I can get rid of them.”

“Fine. How much do you want? We’ll need to see the deed being done, and see no rat comes back, for you to get the payment. No funny business.” The mayor’s eyes narrowed at Peter once again.

“I’d use magic. I suppose it’s not a problem if the rats die?” The mayor shook his head for all answer, chuckling under his breath. “Oh and,” Peter added, as if the thought just occurred to him, “I don’t want gold. What else could you offer?”

The few men, who had kept on talking to preserve the illusion that this was somewhat a private talk no one was listening to, fell silent and wiped their heads around to gape at him. The mayor leaned forward slightly; interest written all over his face. “Not gold?” he repeated in breath, almost as if he was speaking to himself and not wanting to believe it. Then, his eyes started to dart left and right, searching for something valuable to trade. “Well, the flyers do say you can have anything you want. Silk, land, women. Anything.”

Peter pressed his lips together, though the movement remained hidden by the shadow the hood casted upon his face. He had no need or want of the things the mayor offered, but to play his card this soon could end badly. He’d check whether there were a Truest Believer in the town, if the rats work, and then ask for it if there was, or information and open eyes if not. “I’ll think about it, then. Would you agree to anything I want? I’d tell before the end of the week.”

“Deal.” This was what he had been waiting for. By pronouncing this word, the mayor created an inescapable promise. “But no funny business. What sort of magic would you use? Because we’ve had a wizard before, and it didn’t work for him either.”

“Yeah, was a waste of time,” one of the men added.

“What does it matter what kind of magic would I use? You’d get to see, and the rats would die. I’ll tell you what I want before the end of the week, and then I’ll go.”

The mayor’s lips stretched into a satisfied smile as Peter summarized the conversation. He held out his hand for him to shake, which Peter did after only a split second of hesitation, his body tensing in case it was a trap and the men would use the occasion to rob him or kill him or anything.

But none of that happened, no matter what Tinkerbell might have to say. Instead, the men bought him another drink and invited him to stay in one of the rooms the bartender had upstairs. As he climbed the stairs up to it, his mind buzzing from whatever liquor they had added to their drinks, as a celebration, Peter almost stumbled upon a hunched back, taking up most of a higher step, the only thing preventing him from falling his hand’s quick reflex.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry sir.” A shadowy figure moved, from where it was kneeling on one step, holding a lighter-colored piece of cloth in his hand.

The boy was the nephew of the bartender, he told him, and worked for him in exchange of food and shelter. Rufio, his name was, and he had told it Peter with a grimace, as if doing so was akin to pulling his own teeth out, one by one. He only seemed to relax when Peter sat down next to him, upon the half-scrubbed step, after Rufio had took a glimpse of his face and had almost chocked on his spit.

It turned out Rufio had expected Peter both to be older and to complain to the mayor or his uncle, for stumbling upon him in the stairs, which would mean another beating, or no more food for a couple of days. The boy was tall, almost as tall as him, and looked strong, if not a bit hungry, more than capable of fighting back, in other words. The look on his face was one Peter knew well, however, and to see it once again was making him burn with fury.

The quick encounter had twisted Peter’s mind about the reward. Not a Truest Believer, but a friend. This could be his chance. Thus, not thinking too much about his missed opportunity for Fiona, as soon as Rufio’s uncle came to inspect the work done and realized it hadn’t made any progress, he rushed down the stairs to the mayor’s table. “Anyone who’ll wish to come with me will, by the end of the week.”

The mayor nodded, waving a hand as if it was nothing, while Peter’s heart lifted, a weight gone. “Deal.”

The room allocated to him was a small one, dirty, and whose window gave upon a muddy wall. He spent his afternoon inside it, examining the trinkets he found inside a drawer and wondering about their use and utility, if he were to replicate them on Neverland. This was how Rufio found him when he brought him dinner, that very same evening.

Peter thanked him, then darted his gaze at the door, when the other boy hovered near it instead of leaving straight away.

“Boss said you don’t want any gold, for the rats.” Peter shook his head as confirmation, for the other boy sounded highly unconvinced. Though he supposed it was fair. Gold ruled the world, and all that. “Why not?”

“I don’t need gold,” Peter said, as close to the truth as he could.

“You need workers?” Rufio noticed Peter’s frown and the way his eyes darted to the slightly opened door and he kicked it close. “Because I can work.”

“More like… friends,” Peter admitted, swallowing with difficulty, his hand coming up to rub at the back oof his neck in an uncharacteristic gesture. “I live on my own, in my land and I want… friends.”

And thus, Rufio was the first one to know about Neverland. He looked in awe, almost fearful to believe it could be real. So alike what Peter had felt, during his very first day on Neverland. “You said anyone who’ll want will be able to go with you. Is it true? Anyone?”

“No adults,” Peter amended. “But I’d never tell adults about Neverland – they wouldn’t believe it anyway, so they wouldn’t be able to come.” This was something Peter had been thinking about, as a reason why the Land Without Magic was so difficult to access without magic, and it was the best hypothesis he had found. People there didn’t believe in magic, for it didn’t exist in their world, and thus it made magic incapable of existing, for it needed people to believe in it to exist.

Rufio lifted his chin slightly up and smiled shyly. He had managed to meet Peter’s eyes somewhere after Peter told him about flying, and hadn’t averted them since then. Peter got what went unsaid; Rufio was no adult.

Thus Peter didn’t go looking for other boys that evening. He had two days still, before the end of the week, and already one boy who agreed to come with him. He showed up to the marketplace once the sun set, and pulled out his pipes from his inside pocket. Once Rumple had gone, the single one he had carved to play music for the boy to fall asleep had become useless, but boredom had made Peter carve others, that he had put together.

The melodies he would play, sometimes, in reminiscence of Rumple, had nothing to do with what he needed to do this night, however. The idea had come to him as he had been thinking about the mermaids and, more precisely, the songs they would use to attract sailors out of their ships. If it worked for the rats, it would work for the Truest Believer, and help Peter find them, whenever that time would come.

Thus, gulping silently, he breathed deeply and focused on the rats, the recommendation of the mermaids echoing in his mind. He needed to concentrate on who he wanted to call to him and play, and it would work. This was how it worked for them, how they enchanted sailors to drown, with their songs and voices and charms, and Peter hoped this was how it would work for him.

His heart was pounding in his chest and the first notes sounded shaky, but as Peter started walking forward to one street, he noticed out of the corner of his eyes the small rodents peeking out of doors, the sewers or under carts, and following him.

The mayor and some curious fellows followed him, too, not sticking close, but Peter could hear their befuddled comments on how they couldn’t hear the music. He almost rolled his eyes at that – of course they couldn’t, they weren’t rats. He brought them – the hundreds of them all – to a river and sent them to drown.

To get rid of the rats the first night was a mistake, as it turned out, for he was followed by curious passers-by or – even worse – interested looking mothers the following days. He was invited in every house, to eat and be introduced to this daughter who was very pretty, or this son who always had a talent for magic, and was looking for a teacher, or a husband. His not wanting gold had come to the knowledge of every inhabitant and they had concluded that he didn’t want any because he had already plenty. They didn’t leave him a second to breathe anymore.

Peter tried not to be too harsh with himself, it was his first try after all, and he swore the following ones would be different, better.

But, still. He could have make it without all of that.

The previous evening before he’d leave, he had Rufio, and another boy whose name was Pays, ready to leave with him. First ray of the sun, on the edge of town, with as little belongings as they could take.

Yet it was the mayor and the inhabitants who waited for them before they could cross the town’s border. “You have our thanks, boy,” the mayor shouted before sending him away, uncaring for Peter’s warnings and reminders of the deal they had, “that’s more than enough.”

Our thanks boy, that’s more than enough. The words repeated themselves inside Peter’s mind the entire day, as he wandered and paced in the forest, too angry at himself for believing he could fly, and go home.

Why would he go home? Back to his loneliness – he had found two companions, they had wanted to come with him, there had been a deal – he wouldn’t leave without them. He wouldn’t leave with his tail between his legs and his head low, as a child a father had corrected, and taught a lesson. He would be the one to give that well-deserved lesson.

He allowed his anger to settle into his mind, and for the first time, allowed himself to truly ponder letting it go free. He had never done so, before, had always tried to leash it, and to remind himself that he couldn’t – it was physically impossible, as well as completely stupid – to rip out his old man’s heart and squeeze it until it burst in his hand, no matter how he longed it was possible. And Rumple had been his own blood, and Peter too terrified of ever becoming what he had always wanted to run away from.

Not that it did work, in the end, despite his efforts, his son chose to leave with the-

With his mother. Children love their mothers, and need them. Just before they left, Peter had seen how Fiona had acted with Rumple, how kindly she had stroked his cheek.

Peter would have given anything to have his own mother stroke his cheek thus. Or come back and embrace him, like they would never be parted again.

But this, never had happened to him.

And thus he waited until night fell, and every light at the windows disappeared, and wandered along the streets, as he had done so two nights prior. It would be the same, he thought, promised himself as he rose his pipes to his lips and blew softly. The children, he thought. All the children, all of them, let them come to me, let them follow me. Peter’s heart skipped a beat when the first door creaked softly open in the night, the sound almost completely drowned beside the soft music that flew to Peter’s ears.

It took longer than it had been for the rats, though no longer than an entire night, for him to walk along every street, wait before every door, for the children to come out. Then, when it was done, after he had visited every corner and alley, he took them to the forest, and followed the river until the water was thrown into the sea.

It was only then, that his breath hitched, and the music stopped playing, and he snapped out of his haze and realized where he was. Where he had taken them.

He turned around, his hand moving to the small of his back, where his dagger was, instead of at his hip. There was perhaps fifty of them, he observed as he swallowed with difficulty. Boys and girls, young and older – almost adults for some, as he was. Their faces blurred into his mind, as they stood there, unmoving, their eyes unfocused.

He saw Rufio, he saw Pays, he saw the girl who had served him, on that first day. Peter rose the pipes once more and closed his eyes. All who are like me, now, he thought, and started to play. He saw Rufio’s eyes come into focus, immediately snapping to where he was standing, but Pays’ remained lost. Others, however, ones Peter hadn’t met properly, imitated Rufio’s reaction. There were two brothers, from the look of them, and another standing almost in front of Peter, mischief evident in the glint of his eyes even through the darkness.

There they were.

Peter tilted his head to the side, motioning for them to go talk a bit farther away. He clapped Rufio’s shoulder and returned his smile when the other boy came to stand beside him, instead of in front of him as the three others did. They all agreed to come with him, all four of them – he had asked Rufio as well, again.

Peter turned around one last time and blew softly into his pipes. All the others walked into the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I particularly liked that merging in the series, especially with a dark Peter Pan. This chapter was closer to the "original" tale than what was briefly shown in the show, so no meeting with an adult Rumple and Baelfire.  
> The mayor being named Mr Lude is a nod to a man named Decan Lude of Hamelin, whose book contains the first known mention of the event written by his grandmother, who had supposedly been an eyewitness to the event.
> 
> The next chapter will be back on Neverland, and with a new POV :)


	6. Lesson of Archery and Brotherhood

Sighing softly through his nose, Nibs straightened his back and widened his stance, the bow resting still and unused for now in his hand.

“Get your back straighter. Put your chin down,” Slightly ordered, “and aim.”

For the twenty-eighth time that day, Nibs complied, his body following his day’s teacher as best as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, Tootles was still rubbing at his sore palm and sniffling.

“Look at the target to aim,” Slightly picked up on the little dart his gaze had made immediately, of course. Nibs noted to himself that, had he be Peter, it wasn’t Slightly he would have named the boy, but something like Hawk, or Glower. But Nibs neither had been here then nor was in Peter’s shoes, and thus had no choice on other’s nicknames.

Peter had found his on the previous evening, and Nibs loved it and had adopted it at once.

According to Rufio, Slightly had been the last one to arrive here, in Neverland, before Nibs did, a couple of days ago, brought here by Peter, just like him. Slightly had been here for way longer than days, though, and had quickly drawn Peter’s attention, with how skilled he was at fighting, especially archery. Thus he had been tasked with teaching Tootles, who had been a Lost Boy for longer than Slightly, almost here since the Twins, Rufio and Fox were, and then Nibs.

They were at it since the morning, and Nibs still hadn’t managed to draw one shot correctly. All the way from his shoulders to the tip of his fingers was throbbing, the muscles hurt from trying to move that darned sling. He kept his mouth shut, however, not wanting Tootles to be angry at him. The state of the other’s fingers, all red and blistered, made him shudder. His own were still unhurt, and Nibs thought he shouldn’t complain.

When Slightly turned away from them for a moment, finally getting the two of them out of his piercing gaze, Nibs pulled a face at Tootles, making him snort.

It called their teacher back on them immediately, of course, but Nibs was glad he could make the other forget a bit about the ugly blisters. “It’s not that difficult,” Slightly pointed out when they both failed to draw once again, “those are the easiest bows one can start with. Are you sure you know how to shoot a sling?”

“Yes,” Nibs answered immediately. He had been using his sling since he had known how to run, he thought he remembered his mother say – had even taken it with him, since Peter had said he could bring anything he wanted.

“Well, I’m having trouble believing you,” Slightly muttered, pulling the bow out of Nibs’ hand and putting himself in position once again. “Watch. Chin down. Both eyes open, Tootles, you’re not helping yourself if you take one of your own eyes out. Feet spread. Nock, but we’re not there yet. Draw.” Nibs gulped at the ease with which Slightly drew, as if there was nothing restraining, not even wearing a glove like he and Tootles were. His face flushed with embarrassment.

They remained at it for a few hours, until Slightly called it a day and they had to unstrung their respective bows, as well as take care of it as if they had really used it.

“I can fight without a bow,” Nibs muttered, more to comfort himself than for anyone’s sake. “It’s fine.”

“What about hunting?” Slightly retorted before leaving without waiting for his answer.

Nibs turned to Tootles, then. “Didn’t you say you’d teach me, about your technic?” When Nibs had arrived, Tootles had been the first Lost Boy Peter had introduced him to, as he had been on the shore as they had flown together there.

“I was hunting,” Tootles had said, his fists on his hips, when Nibs had asked him what he had been doing, impatient to meet everyone and start living adventures, just as Peter had promised.

“Hunting? Hunting what?”

“Wild gooses.” Tootles had only been holding a knife, then, and had explained that it was a new technic when Nibs had wondered about the weapon he used to do that. He didn’t remember ever tasting wild gooses.

Peter had come, then, after Tootles had offered to teach him how to, to see if Nibs could use Neverland’s magic – he could – and Nibs had hugged Tootles in thanks without thinking, because he always forgot some people didn’t like that, before following Peter and, to be true, had forgotten about the offer until Slightly’s remark.

Besides, hunting gooses with only a knife sounded like a great feat, and very impressive – definitely enough to impress Slightly a bit, too – even if Nibs didn’t think he’d be as good as Tootles surely was.

But Tootles’ eyes widened and his mouth turned down. “I can’t today. Sorry.”

“Oh. It’s fine.” Nibs shrugged, smiled. “Don’t say sorry. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Tootles made a move to speak, but then clamped his mouth shut and scrambled away, and so Nibs made his way back into camp. Peter, Rufio and Fox were talking together, sitting cross-legged on the ground and Nibs was about to join them when his eyes fell on the map drawn in the middle of them, meaning they were probably planning their next retaliation. His nose scrunched, and he absentmindedly scratched at the side of it. Battle plans really weren’t his thing. Nibs liked to fight, to run and dodge and punch, not to think.

The Twins were swinging themselves not far, and the cheerful laughs echoed with ones Nibs hadn’t heard since a long time ago. He and his siblings had spent afternoons swinging themselves in turn on the swing his dad and older brother had tied to the tree, next to their house, and it had been more than fun.

Now though, Nibs’ eyes had started to burn at the same time as his mouth had twitched up at the memories and the laughter, and his feet faltered between joining them or stepping away from the twisting of his heart.

On the other side of camp, however, Slightly was sat on his own, his back turned to them but his arms moving. Curiosity picked, Nibs wiped at his dry eyes, waved back at the Twins who had noticed him, and padded closer as silently as possible.

Plopping down next to Slightly, he peered at the strange looking things laying on the earth and the vial the other boy was holding. “What’s that?” he asked, making a move to take the vial.

Slightly hissed, moving it away from his grasp with his longer arms. “Careful. This is Dreamshade. Didn’t Peter told you how dangerous it is?”

He had. As soon as Slightly had named the things – which were thorned branches, now Nibs could see it – he had snatched his hand away, rendering useless Slightly’s own preventions. “Yes,” he said pointedly. “No one is supposed to touch it, lest it’ll kill you.”

“Exactly.”

Despite the confirmation, Slightly continued his work. He would take a branch and press on the torn until a black liquid would seep out and into the vial. “Then why are you touching it?”

“Don’t you have something else to do? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Am I deconcentrating you?”

The reflex was quicker than the logic, “No but-” Slightly pressed his lips together and sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Aren’t you going to find it boring?”

“You’re handling something I’ve been expressly told I shouldn’t come near, that’s pretty interesting.” With that, Nibs finally cracked the scowl that seemed to be perpetually etched in Slightly’s face and had been bothering him since the first time he had met the other. Out of them, he was the only one who seemed so perpetually angry, or thoughtful, besides Peter. And Nibs knew Peter looked like that sometimes because there was something he was looking for, in all the different worlds, something he needed to have but hadn’t found yet. He had no idea why Slightly never smiled, and it didn’t sit right with his stomach. They were companions, now. “And I do, I have to go see the potatoes, but I saw you first and I wondered what you were doing. Why are you doing that? Aren’t you bored?”

“I find it calming.” It was strange, but watching the slow and careful moves felt calming to Nibs, as well. “What do you mean potatoes?”

No, no. Nibs knew what the other was doing, and he wouldn’t be distracted away from the tons of questions that had built up in his head since he arrived. “Just the potatoes,” he said. Not knowing which one to start with, Nibs just picked the first one he could think of. “Rufio told me you were from the Land Without Magic. What’s it like?”

To live in a land that didn’t have magic sounded puzzling to him, because he had always lived with it. How did you ward off dragons without magic?

This was Nibs’ true question, but he didn’t want to be rude asking straight away. He heard some dragons ate people, and maybe Slightly’s family had been killed by a dragon and then eaten.

“Peter is from there, too.”

“Yes, I know. He told me he came from another land within the Land Without Magic. It’s called Amemeca.”

“America. I come from here, as well. As for what it’s like, well, I suppose it is a bit difficult to describe. I lived in a city, with-”

“I know what a city is.” He did. He thought he recalled his brother once brought a picture of one. It looked like a lot of houses built close together. Nibs privately thought it was a bit silly, and very dragon-attracting, but then he also knew dragons didn’t need lots of houses to attack spots.

“Dragons don’t exist,” Slightly said. “Not in the Land Without Magic. We have stories and books about them, some, but no one believe they’re real. I suppose one could argue we also had them, a long time ago, but we called them dinosaurs, and they didn’t breathe fire. They all died before mankind started to appear, however, and all we have left are skeletons. One was found almost whole, a couple of years ago… before I left that is. It was this big.” He pointed to a spot what amounted to a small dragon, Nibs thought.

They talked more about dinosaurs, and that America land which cities turned out very different from the ones Nibs knew of, until Peter joined them, pulled a face at the sound of “America” and instead offered to go hunt for their dinner, rather than picturing the meat.

Slightly accepted willingly, but Nibs declined. He went to his spot, where he had modified the earth – Peter hadn’t particularly imagined it a certain way, and thus had only stared puzzledly at him when he had asked if he could try to change one spot, so potatoes and vegetables could grow. “Of course,” Peter had answered after Nibs explained.

The seeds hadn’t grown yet, but Nibs went to see them every day at least, checking and watching over them with an attention and an urgency he usually reserved for friends. A small part of his head, speaking with Peter’s voice, reminded him he didn’t need to, here. But he couldn’t stop himself. It calmed him down, especially at night, when he’d wake up. Not hungry anymore, but still wanting to be sure there was something, in case he or another of the Lost Boys was. Thankfully the potatoes were growing fast, and soon there would be plenty.

“Some forget, after a time,” Peter told him once, looking at the Twins, Fox and Tootles, “and some don’t.” There, he looked at Rufio, Slightly, and then to his own shoes. “I can’t tell what it’ll be for you.”

Nibs wanted to forget – everything. The fire, the screams, the smoke that choked him, the jump, the plants all around him burning to the ground, the trees too, their house, their home, everything and then what happened after.

Gulping, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to send it all flying away, walking straight to Peter’s back in the meantime. A hand shooting to his shoulder, a knife pressing to his throat was the reaction he got, before Peter pulled the knife away. “Nibs! You really should start making some noise when y- You alright?”

No, right now Nibs wasn’t, but he was glad he had happened on Peter. The older-looking boy was nice and funny, reminding him of his older brother. Thus, not thinking, Nibs wordlessly wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and squeezed. Closing his eyes, he pressed his cheek against Peter’s shoulder, his own shaking minutely with a sob when he heard the other take a sharp intake of breath and felt him tense so much Nibs thought he was about to break himself in two.

Nibs yanked his arms away. Right, right, right. People didn’t like that. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thankfully steady and not sad, his nose itching. He always forgot people didn’t like that. When Peter remained silent, Nibs risked a wary glance up.

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, his face unreadable.

None of them mentioned it during dinner or the following days, though Nibs caught Peter look at him strangely more than once, gnawing on his lip and obviously thinking back on it. Rufio and Slightly noticed the looks quickly, the former coming to ask him about them though letting it go when Nibs shrugged, while the latter began to send him looks, as Peter did.

Just looks, however. When it had started, Nibs had briefly hesitated before sitting down next to Slightly, to watch him extract the Dreamshade as he had done for the past days, not knowing what he’d answer had Slightly been waiting to ask him about Peter’s strange looks and, then, his own. But Slightly never asked about that.

Reassured, Nibs had continued to sit down and make conversations Slightly looked like he actually enjoyed participating in. This was the main reason why, while liking everyone a lot here, Nibs found he liked Slightly the best. Especially since the other boy talked to him in what weren’t barked orders and dismayed resignation.

In fact, when it was just the two of them, Slightly’s words would remain soft and low, almost tentative, like he didn’t like being too loud. Rare, too. This was something Nibs had discovered with befuddlement not that long ago; Slightly didn’t say much, but he remembered everything Nibs told him.

“It’s interesting, what you say,” he explained once, as Nibs asked him about it, half-shrugging, like it was something normal. Nibs didn’t remember if it was, but it certainly felt nice. However, Slightly would deny the reverse could be considered true. That he, Slightly, was interesting to talk with, and listen to. Nibs disagreed, but Slightly was adamant.

This was how Nibs discovered, and then quickly remedied, that Slightly had never learnt how to climb trees. He knew how to spar and shoot arrows and hunt and ride horses, but not how fast he ran – rather fast, but less so than Nibs – how to wrestle or grow potatoes. The last two they started doing together, every day, until it felt as if they had never not done so.

Soon, without Nibs realizing it, they were starting to spend their entire days together. They were starting to become _Nibs and Slightly_ to every other Lost Boy.

There was no better feeling in the world, to him. Peter, Rufio, Fox, the Twins and Tootles were his friends, his companions, but Slightly had turned them all into more, into a family.

He told as much to Peter when he wondered about them spending all that time together and becoming _Nibs and Slightly_.

“It’s unexpected,” Peter said, one eyebrow raised and his head tilted slightly to one side, “Slightly looks more like he’s struggling to not hold a grudge against everyone than making friends. Slightly, you see?” To say Nibs had been a bit bummed out by Peter’s thoughts would not entirely be a lie, with the way his heart had tumbled to his stomach.

It was nothing, however, to what happened when he found out Slightly actually agreed with Peter.

“Oh,” was all Nibs had managed to answer, the sound small and tart-tasting. Unpleasantness made him squirm on himself, his gaze dropping down as he teared off bouts of grass surrounding him. He thought he saw Slightly stop his extracting and frown, but apparently he could be wrong, and maybe about that too, and so Nibs didn’t look up. In fact, a part of him wanted to leave, while another wanted to stay and press and nag at his friend to know why. In the end, Nibs stayed but didn’t speak, in a sort of weird compromise to himself.

“Are you alright?” Slightly asked, after some time. “You look bothered with something,” he added when Nibs’ only answer was a mix between a sigh and a grumbling. “Should we go see the plants, after I’m done?”

“I’ll go myself,” Nibs decided finally, not being sure he wanted Slightly to come, since it was so weird. He pouted all the way to the potatoes’ spot, and then back, before his steps faltered when he happened on Tootles, on his way back.

Tootles hadn’t noticed him, nor did anyone else – everyone seemed to be gathered there, except Peter and Fox, and intently watching Tootles pull out an arrow, nock it right, draw the bow and shoot. Swift. Precise. Strong. The claps and cheers that followed transformed into pebbles in Nibs’ stomach.

Now, he was behind everyone. Now, he was the only one who couldn’t even draw properly. Was it why Peter, and then Slightly had said it was weird, that they were friends?

He should have kept on training, like Tootles had, Nibs decided, and then spent the rest of the day mulling that he hadn’t.

So, when Nibs felt a presence lay down next to him, that night, he had to blink to himself four times to check he wasn’t dreaming already. The soft “Nibs?” definitely erased any doubts of that, and Nibs slowly turned over, facing Slightly and resisting the urge to squirm again, at the discomfort swarming in his stomach.

“I’ll train more with the bows,” Nibs blurted out when he glimpsed Slightly’s mouth open. Since it seemed Slightly found it impressive. “I forgot, but I’ll do it.”

“Alright, if you want.” If he wanted? Of course he didn’t want to. “Is that what’s been bothering you, today?”

“No. Yes?” He let out a long sigh. “Do you really think it’s weird, that we’re friends?”

Even in the dark, he saw the way Slightly’s eyes widened at the question. Nibs didn’t know what to think about that. “Not at all. Why would I think that?”

“That’s what you said,” he pointed out, resisting the urge to jab at Slightly’s chest. “That’s what everyone’s been saying, apparently.” It wasn’t that it bothered him, it was just that… well he didn’t like realizing someone he considered a friend didn’t consider him a friend back.

“Oh. That wasn’t what I meant,” Slightly hurried to say. “I said this because- what I meant was- I never used to have any friends.”

“Really?”

“Aye, really.”

A pang in Nibs’ heart. He gritted his teeth together when Slightly chuckled, like it wasn’t important, and pulled his hand out from under his head to feel around, in search for Slightly’s. When he found it, he took it in his, his chest warming at the allowed touch. People usually didn’t like it, but Slightly did, and tightened his hold. “I can be your friend, if you want.”

Another chuckle, though this one sounded a bit sad. “I already think of you as such. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to have friends. And that’s… that’s the only way I think the others mean when they say it’s weird. But you’re my friend.” Friend, yes. The word sounded good, but felt also wrong, somehow. Lacking. Even though he didn’t know of any better one, at the moment, Nibs’ nose still scrunched. “Good friend,” Slightly amended, seeming to read his thoughts.

Nibs nodded. Good friends sounded nicer, truer. More was always better, in his opinion. Safer. “Like a true brother,” he added, almost not realizing he was speaking before the words were out, his head fuzzy from tiredness.

Before he truly fell asleep, however, he managed to catch Slightly’s soft repeated promise as he entwined their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the new chapter! Rather self-indulgent, I'll admit, especially concerning the ship it concerns, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! It won't be a main plot, I think it'll be the main focus for a couple of chapters overall in the entire fic, so if you don't particularly like, it won't have this much importance.
> 
> Wendy POV will arrive very soon, not in the next chapter, but in the following one, and then we'll stay in her head for the next 10 ones at least, I promise x)  
> Next chapter will be important as well, though, so I hope you'll stay tuned!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	7. Handy Hook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Peter Pan is an asshole in this chapter. Don't worry, though, it's going to come bite him back. But, still.
> 
> Spoiler warning in the end note.
> 
> But here's the new chapter!

Neverland was living, thriving, blossoming even more with the arrival of every new Lost Boys. Peter had called them such, in reference to Tinkerbell’s first nickname to him, when he had been a child apparently found of scaring her in the most importune times by hiding and making her search everywhere for him.

Rufio, Fox and the Twins had been the firsts to come with him, as his reward for delivering the small town from its rodent creatures. He, unfortunately, hadn’t been able to do anything for the humanlike ones, besides giving the adults a well-deserved taste of their own medicine. A town without children. Perhaps it would teach them – all of them, especially the neighboring ones, since they still had their children – to appreciate them more. Then had come Tootles. Then Slightly, from his very first travel to the Land Without Magic, who had been so alike him Peter had faltered for a moment. Then Nibs, who had grabbed Peter’s hand with an urgency he knew too well too, without allowing the world to see it as plainly as Nibs did. Then Curly, much younger than the others were, a literal child, but who had sprung up from his bed at the very first note of his pipes and who Peter just couldn’t turn away. Then Felix, who hadn’t been an orphan as the last two had been, while still agreeing to follow him without a word more when Peter had offered it. Then Wiley, the last one to join them for now, found by his Shadow in a hurry, coming to them with a large gash in his head Peter had managed to heal.

They fought a lot, true, sometimes even dividing the camp into as many sides as it needed to have for days on end, but it didn’t matter as much as it should have, and everything ended up being forgotten. Peter wasn’t lonely anymore. He was happy, thriving as the island and all its inhabitants were. This was his world, but their home, to him and all those boys alike him, who hadn’t found their place in the worlds they were born into.

So happy that there happened sometimes several days in a row without him thinking of Rumple, or Fiona.

Guilt always ate at him when he’d realize it, but even this became more and more faint as time passed. It brought its own load of worries and guilt, more self-centered, aimed at his own reaction which Peter couldn’t help but find horrendous. For which kind of person sometimes forgot about his love and his son, without feeling terrible and tremendous guilt of it?

He knew the answer – remembered it. Had known, seen it for the better part of his childhood. It wasn’t something Peter wanted to see himself become. Ever.

The days following the bitter reminder, he would catch himself wondering, picturing, awaiting them back here, with him. A family, finally complete. With the last two people he missed and needed in the worlds. The picture never lasted, however, and Peter would then throw himself head and heart in the search of that Truest Believer, leaving Neverland for several days and search around in every world he could. Nothing. Wherever he played, all lights stayed snuffed out, all windows stayed shut. Wherever he went, he never met either Fiona or Rumple.

Once again this time, as he had roamed around Wonderland without much success and without even finding a Lost Boy to bring back with him, Peter returned home. Neverland was basked in the dark, and, as Peter flew closer to camp, the soft cries began to be heard anew, sending his gut in a twist.

This was something he hadn’t managed to fix yet. At nights, some Boys would start remembering things they’d rather keep forgetting, nightmares that sounded more vivid than the usual ones, and Peter didn’t know how to make it stop completely.

It affected the same ones nearly every time: the second Twin, Nibs, Tootles, and Rufio, though Peter couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. Worse memories seemed the obvious one, but Felix and Wiley had told him about their life, before he took them with him, and they were horrendous in their own way as well. He was sure the rest was the same. It was the reason why they all were here, wasn’t it? And, if it was just about memories, than why would it affect only the second Twin, and not the first? So it had to be a mix between memories and characters. It corresponded with the knowledge Peter had about each of them.

Though that didn’t mean it suddenly became easier, even at all, to listen to those night cries. The solution he had found, to play his pipes while they slept, could only work for a time, as he too needed to sleep, and his Shadow couldn’t watch over them in his place, this time.

The only thing which relieved him somehow, was the fact that none of the Boys seemed to recall having those nightmares, when morning came. As for the others, Peter believed they slept soundly enough to be unaware of it.

When he landed, that night, he realized he had been wrong. He had just stopped playing, sitting on a rock a bit higher than everyone else who was sleeping under the stars, watching over calmed and peaceful faces. Before he could fly down to get a rest as well, his eyes caught a figure moving from where it was curled around another. Sitting up, turning around and then standing, before he walked to where Peter was sitting.

Slightly came to sit down next to him and, at first, for a while, said nothing.

“Spit it out.”

“What do you think of, when you play and pick out a new Lost Boy? What makes you pick them?”

He couldn’t say the too thoughtful for the middle of the night question was unexpected. “I look for boys like me,” Peter admitted, wondering what it meant. Boys like him, who were they, truly? “Lost Boys, who don’t feel welcomed or happy in their world. Who are looking for something else, something better. Who feel unloved, or lonely. Who are lost.”

“Unhappy, lonely or unloved,” Slightly repeated, his voice taking a bitter edge. “What do you think it was, for him?”

A soft gasp spilled from Peter’s lips and he turned his gaze to the still curled figure on the grass. Nibs had half-moved to where Slightly had been laying down, but his face had lost the traces of sadness. “I have no idea.” It didn’t sit right with him, was making his blood burn, wishing he could fly back to the world they came from when he heard their cries at night, or saw Curly flinch when Rufio clapped too loudly.

He could only hope whoever were to blame for these were dead, having suffered through long, painful agonies.

“Could you check now? Play, but only for the unloved ones?”

“It wouldn’t work.” Or at least Peter hoped so. “He’s loved, here.” He eyed Slightly pointedly, knowing the latter made no secret of preference of friendship. It didn’t matter. They all were. The unloved feeling was gone. It must be.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, it’s fine.”

“It just… it drives me insane, to imagine him feeling unloved.” Pressing his lips together, Slightly averted his eyes and sat still for a couple of minutes, staring intently at his clasped hands. “Not him. He’s like a brother to me, no matter that it’s been… It’s been rather long since we both came here, hasn’t it?”

Peter slowly nodded. “I think so.” He agreed with Slightly. It did felt unfair. And especially when it concerned Nibs, who was always smiling and the most enthusiastic of them all – except to plan attacks, which he hated as much as waking up to one. “Yet there’s nothing we can do, now, to change the past.” If there were, Peter would have done so years and years ago. What he’d give to have Fiona with him at the moment... She’d know what to do, how to calm Slightly’s worries or make the Boys forget ugly memories, he believed. Yet he was still as far to find the next True Believer as he had been when he had begun to search.

“Only hope he doesn’t feel like that anymore.”

“I don’t think he does,” he assured, watching Slightly nod to the words, his face decided, as if he only to have the confirmation spoken to believe it. “You know him a lot better than the rest of us. He’d tell you, if it was the-”

But Peter interrupted himself as he felt something in his chest shake. Something was wrong. Gasping, he didn’t even realize he had stood up, nor that his hand had come to hover near his knife, resting against the small of his back, before Slightly pulled him back to the current moment. “Something’s wrong?”

The other had stood up, as well, all trace of rawness and vulnerability on his features gone to be replaced by the tense look Peter was also familiar with, the one he would sport when a fight would be near. Serious, and focused. Just like him.

It did felt as such, as if the balance of Neverland had tilted, out of nowhere, yet Peter couldn’t pinpoint to which extent, or from which circumstance. “I don’t know,” he said, as the leaves started to rustle in the wind, the ground to rumble, a sound coming from deep within the earth, the elements in his control picking up his quickly growing unrest. Were he on the shore at the moment, Peter was sure he would see the sea start to get rougher as well. Instead, the soft agitation slowly woke the other Boys, one by one.

They all began to wonder what was the meaning of this while Peter paced, trying to remember why the sensation in his chest, as unsettling as he found it, was also strangely familiar. His head jerked up to the sky when he found the missing piece. Rumple’s birth. The boat, the Dreamshade. The sailors.

“Bring your weapons,” he muttered before running toward the east shore, his shoulders relaxing minutely when he heard the quick sound of steps following him.

Someone was here. Someone had come, uninvited. Unwanted. The same anxiety took a hold of Peter’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. There may be no more Fiona, or Rumple with him, but the Boys were as the other two had been, once.

Still were, he amended, gritting his teeth, his hold tightening around his knife.

He stopped abruptly on the shore, as his eyes immediately caught on the silhouette of a large boat cut by the moonlight. It seemed in difficulty of staying afloat, but very much trespassing, so Peter didn’t calm the waves, nor the wind, enjoying hearing the distant shouts of panic and distress as he focused all gusts and energy straight to it. Let them drown, let them regret to come here, let them become mermaids’ midnight refreshment.

He knew that boat. But no, it couldn’t be the sailors – sailor, now, as one of them had been too stupid to heed his warnings, and the other too stupid to listen to his help. The first one should be dead for sure. As for the second… well Peter couldn’t imagine him coming back to the place which had killed- had it been his brother? That would be particularly stupid and, as he was feeling generous to that probably-dead-now man, Peter shook his head to himself, disregarding the idea.

Perhaps it was the same boat, but held by a different captain, or two boats but coming from the same world. As far as he remembered, the boat had been displaying a strange colored flag at its top, utterly absent on this one. It meant something, but Peter couldn’t recall why. There was only one way to know, though, and so he took Felix and Fox with him and rowed to it, leaving the rest of the Boys watching the shores and waiting for them.

Neverland was their home, and no one else was welcomed there, aside from family. Lost Boys. Tinkerbell, when she had time to drop by. And Fiona, too. He climbed as silently and swiftly as possible aboard, only letting his feet hit the plank as loud as possible, enjoying the shriek of the closest sailors and keeping his ability to fly safely hidden.

Old men dressed in leather and lacking any sort of uniform stared at him with wide eyes, most probably still under the shock of the sudden disappearance of such a strong and focused storm than surprise at seeing three of them climb on their deck. One of them, the stupidest Peter decided, took a step forward and drew his sword to Peter, drawing a sharp breath and a rushed step forward from Felix.

With a hand, Peter beckoned him to stay back. None of them were going to harm, or even touch, one of them.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

Instead of the man replying, however, the half-circle of them parted to reveal another, younger, whose face Peter had already seen before. “It’s still you,” the man said, the very same one whose brother had died. The stupid one who, not only not listening to him and thus sentencing his own blood to death – though Peter admitted the other one had been even more stupid – came back.

Peter couldn’t have hold back the snort, even if he had wanted it.

The sailor’s “Listen, boy,” made it die down like a snuffed candle, however. Had the man not learnt?

“I’m not a boy, and I don’t have to listen to you.” Even though Peter could admit to himself he did was a tad curious about the reason the man could have to come back here. Stupidity truly knew no end. He found it fascinating. “My name is Peter Pan, and you’re in my world. In our world. Trespassing. Now, I wonder what should I do to trespassers?” he wondered aloud, his face turning slightly to Fox, whose axe bounced slightly against his knee with his excitement. They had already agreed on the treatment they’d give to trespassers. The same one as cowards. The same one as traitors.

The same one as adults.

“Wait,” the man retorted, his face twisting in fright, silencing the crew around him who had started to guffaw. “We’re not trespassing.” Unconvinced, Peter lifted a brow. “We’re asking for permission to remain here. In this boat. In this sea. This isn’t where you live.”

Well, this was already better. He wouldn’t accept, of course – why would he? – but he could enjoy a bit of deference.

“This is where others live, as well." The mermaids wouldn't be found of the man's cockiness, even though Peter was starting to find him funny. If they were to stay, hypothetically of course, perhaps they would enjoy the free play as well. "Why should we have to endure your presence when none of us want to?"

“I know there are something, or someone, you’re trying to protect.” The words made Peter gulp with difficulty. “I can promise you that none of us want to harm them, or take them away from you.”

“Adults’ promises mean nothing,” Felix mumbled as Peter’s mouth curled into a smirk, feeling a sense of relief and pride at hearing those words from someone else, spoken so confidently. A welcome reminder, or announcement, to anyone listening. Judging by the utter silence falling on the crew, a mostly perplexed one Peter gathered, everyone heard them.

It was true. Whether they promised gold, or company, in exchange for his help.

Even Fiona-

No, he was being unfair. His fists tightening, Peter glared at the man facing him. He had audacity, even a kind of recklessness, rather unusually found in adults, he granted him that, if not utterly lacking brains, but that didn’t mean anything. “We appreciate your promise, and we’re delighted to assure you that you indeed won’t.”

“We won’t bother you.” Yes, the man was stupid, there was no doubt to be had anymore. “I need to kill someone-”

Peter’s eyes, who had started to wander around disinterestedly, jerked back to the man. “Who?”

“My crocodile.” The man waved his hand at that and, at first Peter couldn’t see anything but black and shadows. The man waited for his eyes to widen when, once they got accustomed to the darkness, showed the absence of a hand, where one should be. Funny. Right. Still not Peter’s problem. The man should have killed his crocodile straight away. “We just need to stay for a little while, and then we’ll be gone. This is the only place I know which can stop people from aging, and I need to. He’s going to go into hiding, probably, knowing I’m on his tail. The fucking coward,” he muttered between his teeth, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “I need time.”

Unsurprisingly, that made it worse. “Why would I allow you to use the magic in my world for your plan? This is your vengeance, not mine.”

“Perhaps there’s something you want.”

“Nothing I can’t get by myself,” Peter retorted.

“Truly? There’s always something we want, that we can’t have.”

To have to answer by the affirmative to such a claim almost made him sick, yet it was true. But darn, did he despise it with all his being.

Saving face, he slowly looked him up and down, letting his distaste cross his expression. “And what could a one-handed man, in command of a crew of sailors, have to offer.”

The man’s eyes flashed with anger at the pointed remark, and his face twisted in a sneer. At least the sentiment was returned. “A one-handed man, who’s also the most formidable captain the Fairytale Land’s seas have ever seen, and swordsman who wishes you no wrong. I remember how you tried to save my brother, I believe I owe you a debt. With that new request, I believe I’d owe you even more. If I were you, I wouldn’t turn that away. You don’t strike me as someone stupid.”

That was because he wasn’t. “There is something I’d like,” Peter said, glancing behind his shoulder when Fox gasped, throwing the boy a reassuring look, “it’s true. If you could get that information back, then perhaps I’d allow you to… stay.”

The man smiled, looking as if he had just won. “What is it?”

“What’s your name?”

“Killian Jones.”

If it meant he’d get it, Peter could pretend for a little while. And, if that Killian Jones and his crew managed to go where he couldn’t, and find out what he wanted to know, and come back… It’d be helpful, that went without saying. As for the last point, well, it would be a nice entertainment, different from the almost daily fights against the Indians.

A novelty.

“There is this book, held by the fairies in Fairy Land.” That same Land, only Land he can’t accede to. “Inside it, there is, I’ve been told- Something’s wrong?” he asked, when he glimpsed the bothered expression Killian pulled.

“Fairy Land?”

“Yes. Fourth star to the right.” He even pointed at it, to make sure the other got it right. “A bright world, very… flowers-full, with fairies flying everywhere. It’s rather hard to mistake.”

“I have no mean how to go there.”

“Can’t that ship fly?” He thought he remembered seeing it fly away, that first time.

“It could, thanks to the Pegasus feathers. I don’t have them anymore.”

“How did you come here, then?”

“Magic bean.”

“Ah. And it was your last one?”

“They’re not that easy to come by.”

Peter shrugged. He had never needed to use any magic beans, and wondered briefly if Neverland couldn’t grow them. As he had never even seen one, however, he doubted it. He wouldn’t know what to imagine, were he to create the first one, which’d lead to the other seedings.

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter.” He waved a hand dismissively. He still had his pouch of Tinkerbell’s dust. It could work. “I can’t go to the Fairy Land anymore, let’s call it because of a disagreement with the Queen. I need someone to go there, and find the Book of Prophecies. There’s a chapter that must concern people called Truest Believers. I want everything you could find on the next one.”

“That’s it?”

“Don’t draw attention to yourself. Bring me back that information, and then, Killian Jones, I’ll allow you to stay here, for as long as it’d be necessary.”

Until we grow bored of you and that crew of yours, Peter finished in his mind.

Killian Jones nodded once. “Deal.”

“Wait for us. We’ll be back.”

Felix and Fox threw him uncertain glances, but, once Peter had explained his entire plan to them as they were rowing back to shore, they turned relieved he hadn’t fallen for the captain’s tricks, but rather the other way around.

As he had imagined, Tinkerbell’s dust allowed the boat to fly to the sky. “Bring back everything you can,” Peter reminded him, throwing him a hook to use instead of his left hand. “Here, should be handy if you’re caught. More than a stump.”

Everything he can turned out to be the drawing of a boy.

“There was nothing else. Though the previous two pages were torn off, and impossible to find in the office the book was in.” Peter grimaced internally at the news. Either those two pages had been torn off by an upset fairy and were about himself and the previous one, who called himself the Wizard and who lived in Oz, one Peter had visited a couple of times. Or by Fiona, who had access to the book earlier than he had, although she was as forbidden to step a foot there as he was.

But perhaps she had found allies for herself already, and had sent them there as Peter just did. She did had years in advance, compared to him. Though with Rumple probably still growing up – or not. He had no idea how much time had passed, nor where they had settled down. Time worked differently depending on which worlds one was in, but Neverland was the only place where time stood still and boys never grew old.

Peter glanced down again to the drawing. It was a boy, with dark hair and a rather round face. Young, just like Fiona had wanted him to be. The boy looked perfect, if he wasn’t yet in Fiona’s reach. But there were no other indication, no name, no place, no hint, nothing. Nothing but the drawing of an unknown face, a stranger who held Peter’s future and happiness in his hands, with foreign features.

He grew to hate the drawn face before the sun set down.

A child, just like he had always looked for. But the proof of his gut, or perhaps it had been more his heart, being right didn’t alleviate the impeding sense of doom and heartbreak looming over him.

To have the paper in his hands or, during the days, in his pocket, only served as a heavy reminder that the face upon it was a stranger’s, and that he had no idea when and how he’d change that. Or even if he’d manage to.

Had Fiona found him? Was she close? Peter couldn’t miss his chance, and the thoughts and unanswered questions haunted his mind. Only when he would spend time talking or running or playing with the Boys, or playfight with the Indians, or seriously fight with the pirates and their captain, who he had named Hook, in regard for his help. He had also told the Boys never to kill him, nor this second-in-command of his, named Mr. Smee, who he seemed fond of. The rest of the crew, however, were a free pass.

The man had quickly realized his mistake in coming here, despite Peter’s assumptions of his flagrant stupidity, but Peter kept him, no matter his demands to rearrange the deal they made. Almost with a vengeance, watching delightedly as he would try to fly toward the stars but couldn’t, find a solution he’d never discover. No one left Neverland without his say.

It was a welcomed distraction, a swell idea of his, and Peter relished in it.

Fighting, punching, tearing, stabbing, the feel of blood on his face and hands, the smell of fear and sound of terrified cries were giving him a well-awaited glimpse of what it’d feel, if he ever got his hands on that boy he kept the drawing of, in lieu of one of Fiona.

But how, how, how?

There was nothing he could do to hasten fate.

Was there?

He wanted a Truest Believer, searched entire worlds for him, two at the same time, sending his Shadow to one while he wandered another, playing his pipes endlessly as his family slept soundly in Neverland, and the missing part of it was lost to him as of yet. He wanted a Truest Believer, for his heart, like Fiona had. Give the heart to Fiona, and she would come back to him.

She had wanted a heart which would entirely belong to her. _Children do love their mothers, don’t they?_

They do, they do.

But Rumple hadn’t been one. Rumple’s heart had been average, nothing like Peter’s, probably nullified by Fiona’s equally strong fairy blood.

Slowly sitting up from where he had been laying down, unsuccessfully attempting to quell his thoughts and sleep, Peter’s own heart began to thump wildly and loudly in his chest, his eyes perfectly wide awake. His breathing shortened.

A Truest Believer’s heart. Fiona had wanted one, as well, but Peter’s had already been to Neverland. Yet she hadn’t left just yet, hadn’t she?

He knew what to do.

Not search for it, but create it.

Peter softly scrambled to his feet and flew to his tree. That same tree where he and Fiona had met and talked for the first time. Peter couldn’t remember what they had talked about, nor how exactly her face had looked, or her voice had sounded, but the yearning in his gut was still there.

Create it, like Fiona had discovered she was able to.

For that, though, he needed something else. Something he didn’t have here, but something he could easily get.

He called for his Shadow, his plan unfolding before his eyes. “Go look everywhere,” he told it, as he usually said when he sent it to search for that Truest Believer, “wait. This time, bring me back a girl.”

“A girl?”

“A girl,” Peter confirmed, his eyes getting lost in the stars. “Any girl. The first one you’ll see. But human,” he added, his voice bursting with urgency, his hands slightly trembling with impatience. He wished the girl were already here, now that he had thought of her. He needed her here yesterday. A human one, so her blood and her plain, human heart would surrender to his. “I want her to be not special at all. Human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Warning: nothing bad (aka like he's thinking about) is going to happen. There's going to be a thorn in the way (see below)
> 
> And Wendy is coming next chapter... Yay?


	8. Gentleshape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new chapter, in Wendy's POV (which is going to be the case for the next ones)
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

The young girl was a deep sleeper, undisturbed even when the youngest of her brothers woke up terrified after some terrible nightmare, or when the other boy – the only one who wasn’t sleeping in a bed – sometimes would murmur unintelligible things in his sleep that one could hear through the not-that-thick wall that separated the nursery to its toys’ closet.

That night had been different, though. It hadn’t started as such: she had sneaked some food after dinner to the young orphan boy that currently lived in their room under the pretense of changing into her nightdress, had kissed her Father and Mother goodnight after having treated her brothers to the wonderful story of Cinderella fighting against pirates to get back home after the ball and petted Nana one last time before washing her hands, face and teeth and jumping into bed, watching her Mother turn off the oil lamps and close the door behind her with a last soft smile and goodnight wish.

Sleep had found her quickly, then, and wouldn’t have left her if it weren’t for the breeze of late summer that suddenly found its way to her cheeks, rousing her.

She turned more fully on her back, kicking her bedcovers in the process, and raising one hand to start rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she blinked them open, just enough to notice with discontent the darkness still present outside and the eerily quietness of the whole house. Frowning her eyebrows, she wondered what could have woken her so – she didn’t have a nightmare, and neither did Michael since she couldn’t hear him cry, only the moon lightened the sky and-

Another warm gust of wind made its way to her and she finally opened her eyes for good, letting them adjust to the environing darkness as the question of who could have let the window open formed itself at the forefront of her mind. It was still warm for certain, but that didn’t-

Everything else came to a standstill as her gaze caught a darker black, a mass with glowing… spots of green light floating just above her. Wendy felt her heart stop, and then start beating so erratically she would have been afraid it would start moving up and up in her throat. The… form moved, a piece of it extending and coming closer and closer to her face and Wendy’s breath released itself.

She screamed.

The black form disappeared from her vision as she scrambled out of her bed. She paid no mind to her brothers’ protests at being woken so abruptly, nor at the loud bang she had heard coming from the closet, nor at the sound of feet on carpets rushing closer and closer to their door, followed by lamps being turned on. Just before the door was almost wrenched open, her eyes caught sight of the floating black mass. She reflexively gasped, one hand reaching out for some sort of protection – her dressing gown for example, or Michael’s wooden sword, she wasn’t sure yet. Before she could grasp anything, however, she saw it rush for the window, still flying in the air, after it took an impulse from the wall, and disappear, tumbling forward to the ground.

One of her hand was raised to her mouth as the door to the nursery opened, her parents following suite, her father holding the fire poker and her mother scrambling for the lights. “Wendy!” they both shouted, already breathless, “are you alright?” her mother added as her father started looking around the room.

Wendy didn’t answer them, but instead ran for the backdoor, her heart still in her throat. The nursery was at the second floor, it was quite a fall and she wasn’t sure anyone could live through it without breaking their necks. She could hear her father on her heels, but she didn’t slow to wait for him to catch up. She stepped outside, her dressing gown little protection against the night breeze, gentle but colder than the inside of her bed had been, and searched around their small backyard for a bruised or, oh goodness, broken body, but she found nothing. The yard was empty, as spotless and dark form-less as it was supposed to be. Her lips pressed together, brows still furrowing slightly, she lifted her head, checking that the nursery’s window indeed looked to the yard as if it could have changed overnight, but nothing.

Had she been dreaming?

No. No, she couldn’t have. Whatever happened, had happened for real. 

“What happened?” Her father asked, voicing her thoughts aloud. He was standing at the door, seeming to hesitate to follow his daughter and make a fool of himself if the neighbors even so much as glanced outside, no matter that it was the middle of the night for all of London. “Will you come back inside? You will catch your death. Wendy,” he called again, and she followed him, her hands clasped in front of her belly, her head hung low and her mouth pouting, the tiniest bit of disappointment taking the place of the fright as it dwindled down, back to her room, where Mother had soothed John and Michael and closed the window. Mother smiled sweetly at Wendy, kissing her forehead before wishing her sweet dreams once again, her thumb stroking Wendy’s cheek, bringing back a bit of warmth in her blood.

The morrow brought its load of questions from her brothers, especially John, who swiftly decreed that she simply had a nightmare when he was dissatisfied with the detailed answers she provided him with. She turned out as annoyed as him with her poor recalling of what had happened and, as the hours passed, a bit at her reaction, too.

Her scream had probably frightened whatever it had been, and sure, it had been standing – floating – awfully close to her face, but was that a sufficient reason to behave as she did? She didn’t know what to think of her manners; and counted herself lucky her mother nor Miss Albury had borne witness to the event. The more she thought about it, the more curious she was of that strange form – she was more and more sure that it had resembled a body, with the two glowing green spots eyes and that it – he? she? – had been reaching to her when she’d screamed and frightened them – that had flown into the room the previous night.

Flown, she thought again, the corners of her mouth tugging in a giddy grin as her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Oh, how she regretted having screamed so. Hadn’t she, who knew what would have happened? Perhaps they could have talked. 

Perhaps… Perhaps they had wanted to take her along on an adventure, like the ones in her stories.

Wendy didn’t want to believe she could have missed her chance so foolishly. The black form simply must come back to her.

And so, she asked the only person she thought might know more about it. She had been allowed to leave the table while John finished his dessert and Michael his fussing, and had brought a tray to the nursery, just as she had done thrice a day for the past two weeks.

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired, inching forward with her hands flat on the floor as Baelfire ate the porridge and bread she had saved for him. “Tell me,” she said after he had nodded heartily between two bites, “where you come from, do you know of… people that are… all black and look somewhat… cloud-like and have the ability to fly as fast as a falcon but without wings.” Wendy saw his face scrunch as she went along her description, but she paid it no mind, too busy waiting for his answer and his explanations.

Thus, him frowning and shaking his head as a reply only served to douse her enthusiasm. She leaned back on her knees and clasped her hands together. “Are you sure?” she whined. He hadn’t seemed to think much, to her.

“Yeah. Why… why would you think such a thing exist in the world I come from?”

“You said it has magic,” she pointed out, a bit hurt that he would think her nonsensical.

He laughed. “Well, it does, but that doesn’t mean that anything and everything exist in it.”

“What are you talking about?” John said from behind her shoulders, but Wendy didn’t look back at him. She was annoyed with him since he didn’t believe her, despite being her brother and younger, on top of it.

Baelfire was the one who answered, telling the younger boy about the description Wendy had just done of the mysterious shape. “Oh that?” John shrugged. “She just had a nightmare.”

“I didn’t,” she immediately protested, because annoyance and ignorance only worked for a short time, anyway. “I didn’t imagine anything, everything happened just as I told you.”

But John hadn’t heard her, and Baelfire wasn’t listening either. “That’s what happened last night?” Baelfire said, rubbing at a spot on the back of his head. “The scream? Wendy, you only had a nightmare?”

“She did.”

“It wasn’t a-”

“And that thing you just described, that’s what you’ve been dreaming about?”

Once again, it was John who answered for her. “Did you hear what that thing looked like? Of course, she dreamt it, no one looks like this in real life.”

“I didn’t dream nothing. I didn’t invent anything. There truly was a black shape,” she didn’t want to call it a thing, though she had no idea what to call it, “in the room yesterday and it was floating, yes, this close to me.” She illustrated her words by bringing her head as close to Baelfire’s as hers and the shape’s had been the previous night, her eyes intent in his in the way she imagined the shape had stared at her. “And then, it had wanted to touch my face,” same as previously, she illustrated what she claimed, bringing her hand to Baelfire’s cheek but not touching it – there hadn’t been any touching, after all. “But I screamed, and he flew out of the window. But,” she added, slowly returning to her previous position and not wanting her brother nor Baelfire to dwell on the fact that she had screamed, “perhaps he’ll be back tonight, and I’ll woke you all up, and you’ll see that I’m not dreaming up anything.” And then you’ll be very sorry, she added in her head, but not feeling petty enough to voice it out loud. She’ll save this for tonight, when they’ll all see how wrong they are of thinking her a liar.

“He?” John said, his nose scrunched in disgust.

“Hm?”

“You said ‘he flew out of the window’,” her brother pointed out, making her and Baelfire’s cheeks flush.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Baelfire took a sharp intake of breath and started to go back in the closet, taking the tray with him and, sure enough, Wendy could hear Mother and Michael coming closer to the door. “I’ll show you tonight,” she whispered at the two boys, and Baelfire nodded in agreement before hastily closing the closet door while John snorted but agreed that he would stay awake to see it.

Unfortunately, even after waiting two hours for the shape to show itself, having opened the window to invite it, having shout-whispered an apology or mock-slept to lure it in, none of the boys longer believed Wendy – not even Michael, who had been the most amenable to the idea and had looked expectantly out of the window even during story-time – and she herself had started doubting what had previously been a conviction. She dragged her feet to her bed and curled up as tightly as a thread spool behind her covers, ignoring the last of John protests at having been kept awake so late when school was early on the morrow, his every two words or so intersected by Michael’s loud yawns.

Wendy had assured them that she had forgotten all about the incident and had gone on with her life as if nothing had happened, but the truth was, she found herself sometimes thinking back of that flying black form that had come to her, one night.

She wondered what would have happened had she been braver, more daring, and had not yelled at once for help. Perhaps it could talk, and had only wanted to chat? Perhaps it had been hungry, like Bae had been, and had wanted to wake her up to ask directions to an inn, or the kitchen? She suppressed a shiver at the thought that perhaps it had wondered if it could eat her.

Father and Mother had noticed the difficulties she had of paying attention these days and had thus discovered Baelfire, following her one evening when she had been less careful when bringing Bae his food. And so Wendy ended up with a new brother, older than she was, and who would attend school and the private conversations Father sometimes had with John. And she was happy at how the situation had turned out and made the effort of looking the part when in company of her family, but she couldn’t help but feel like Baelfire was hiding something from her, something that was relevant to the mysterious shape.

“No one can fly, Wendy,” he had told her when she had interrogated him once again, just the two of them this time. “Not even with magic. It’s impossible.”

But she had seen it happen. Seen it with her own eyes.

Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, having heard some little noise or felt some light breeze upon her face, and she would rush to the window, not taking the time to put on her dressing gown, or her slippers, only to find it closed. Then, she would sit at the bench right under it and keep on looking, sometimes at the backyard, where Nana was sleeping, sometimes at the stone walls of the neighboring houses, or sometimes at the stars and moon.

More often than not, she ended up falling asleep like this, and had to pad quietly to her bed when the morning light would wake her up, lest her brothers or Mother find her still at the window come morning – which had happened once, and had been hard to explain. Wendy wasn’t sure she had convinced Mother with her feeble excuse, but she had said nothing of it, only sometimes Wendy would catch her mother looking at her with a funny glint in her beautiful eyes. She didn’t know what it meant, though, only that her mother wasn’t angry at her, which was enough to not pry any more.

But her favorite moments were when she sat down on that bench, when the disappointment of having imagined the little noise or the gust of wind just began to disappear, and she could wonder about the shape. Those moments, she could have sworn before God and angels and anyone else that the shape had been real. She tried to remember what it had looked like, with more difficulty each passing day. She was now persuaded it had been boy-like, in its appearance, with arms and legs and a head with green lights for eyes and short hair – granted, she had based her conclusion of the shape being a boy on the absence of long hair, but Baelfire hadn’t wanted to answer her questions about fashionable hairstyles for black, cloud-y like people who supposedly would be able to fly if such a thing was possible, so she made do with what she had.

Her thoughts were spinning, overcome with thousands of questions about him; where did he come from? What was his name? Could he talk? How could he fly, since Bae thought it impossible? Could his family fly too? Could someone learn how to fly? Could she? Could he walk? How did he come in England? Did he like London? Will he forgive her for screaming like that? Was he truly a boy? Were there girls like him, too? Would he mind terribly if she introduced him to her family? Where did he lived? Was he there to take her away, off to live the most exciting, wonderful adventure there could ever be? That very adventure she had awaited, had dreamt of living all her life? And so on and on. She usually fell asleep before she could think of all the things she would like to know about it and woke up feeling quite sorry that she probably will never be able to do so.

That the shape would never come back. That there would be no questions answered, no adventure, nothing. That she should just forget about all of it – which was impossible – and only remember it from time to time. Wendy swore to herself that she shall never forget it, and henceforth, her stories had started to mention the appearance of a valorous nameless hero, who could fly without wings and who would help Cinderella, Alice, Rapunzel or Snow White, before teaching them to fly as well and take them away.

She would then glance mournfully at the sky one last time, but accept it, nonetheless, or at least that it would not be for tonight, and go back to her bed, her eyes still stinging with bitter tears.

That night had been no different; she had went to the window, dragging her blanket with her for it was starting to grow quite cold outside, and the window was as far from the stove as possible, and made herself comfortable, putting the blanket all around herself while gazing up at the stars. She had found a new fascination in them, since she had started observing them at length during the night. When she had been smaller, she had wanted, just like Dorothy Gale, for a tornado to sweep her house away to Oz, but now she would give anything for the tornado to come and bring her house closer to the stars.

She believed that it was on that thought she fell asleep. She couldn’t say for sure what it was she dreamed about, but she could for sure affirm that it did not involve any kind of tapping sound, yet that was what she heard. Her eyes fluttered open, looking up absentmindedly, she blinked once, twice and had to cover her mouth with both her hands as to not wake the entire household. The shape was back, floating right on the other side of her window, its darkness nearly indistinguishable with the dark background of the night, but Wendy could discern that it indeed looked like a body: with arms and legs and chest and a head. Its… eyes? were set on her and unwavering. She saw it move its arm and, all of a sudden, the window handle started to turn on itself.

This time, she couldn’t hold back a gasp as she abruptly stood up from where she was still laying and took three steps back, stumbling upon a discarded toy in her wake. It wanted to come inside, her mind supplied, and she found herself too nervous to recall that she had just moments ago prayed for a chance for it to happen again, at very least so that she got an opportunity to apologize. But, as her prayers had been unexpectedly answered tonight, she found herself pleading now for it to remain outside. Wendy turned her head to where John and Michael were peacefully sleeping, her eyes wide and her breath short. She could scream and wake them all. Baelfire was also in the bed just behind her and would be on his feet quicker than even her parents would. Surely that would make it cease.

Before she could decide, the handle stopped moving, deciding for her, and Wendy snatched her eyes back to the shape that was still floating. It had been it that had stopped the handle: it truly had magic, the magic to move objects and the magic to fly and to read thoughts, she added, half-convinced it had heard her wish and granted it, like a true… gentleshape would.

That small reassurance that it wasn’t here to eat her sufficed to embolden her and bring back all the questions she had about it. She wondered if it would mind answering them and if she would ask them. But where would Dorothy, Cinderella or Belle be if they hadn’t been daring at the beginning of their adventure? For it was the beginning of hers, Wendy could feel it with every beat of her heart. After so long spent dreaming and imagining it happening, it was finally her turn. The shape had come for her. She already loved every second of it.

Briefly hoping she wasn’t looking too disheveled, Wendy curtseyed, suddenly remembering her manners. As she stood up once more, feeling quite proud of the perfection of her curtsy, she saw that the shape had its head cocked to one side but was still observing her. Her hands turned clammy as she stood in the middle of the room, not really knowing what to do after this – her lessons only mentioned that the lady should start a conversation, but then they hadn’t been introduced at a ball, or at all for that matter, so she wasn’t sure her lessons applied for that peculiar case. Then, after what appeared an eternity to her, during which she had started wondering if she should just forgo properties and invite him inside, it bowed in turn.

It quickly stood straight once the bow was made, its eyes finding hers again and never wavering away. Wendy was left breathless, her mouth slowly forming a small smile as she struggled to hide the fact that she had trouble breathing and not lower her eyes before all the attention, as she felt herself turn shy.

An idea to help her regain her composure formed in her mind and she signaled for it to wait a moment as she fetched a quill and a piece of paper, quickly writing her name on it before holding it in front of her, the name facing it. She hoped it would be able to read it, otherwise it would think her quite foolish, standing this way, but then Bae had known how to read and write, and he had come from a land with magic too.

Her doubts flew away when it came closer to the window and blew air on it, making the glass turn misty. Then, with one finger, it traced letters until it formed a name that she didn’t have to twist her head in different direction in order to read it correctly and which Wendy swore would remain etched in her memory for all her life.

_Peter_


	9. The Biggest Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some passages you may recognize from the 2003 movie and the 2x21 episode of OUAT.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

“Good morning!” Wendy chirped, skipping to the dining room. “I trust you have spent a lovely night!”

“I trust you have, as well,” Mother said once Wendy had settled down, a soft smile at her daughter’s happiness lighting up her face.

Wendy only answered with a smile of her own, not wishing to admit to her mother that she had spent quite a few hours of it admiring and waving at Peter fly over London’s roofs and wishing she was daring enough to open the window. This night she will, she promised herself as she took the first bite of her scrambled eggs.

“She is this cheerful every morning, Mary?” The family had a guest since the previous evening: Aunt Millicent, George Darling’s older sister, who was widowed and childless and had decided to pay a visit to her brother’s family and, so far, was finding everything in the house _very_ surprising.

Mother didn’t answer as John and Michael chose this moment to enter and the bell rang, signaling the daily arrival of the milk boy. Father stood up to collect the canisters and pay the boy, but Wendy opted to remain seated this day, hoping no one would notice, or mention it.

Mother did, however, as she waved Wendy’s hair in a single braid. “You didn’t follow to greet Matthew, this morning,” she noted, seemingly absentmindedly, referring to Wendy’s doings. “In fact, it has been so for some days already. Did something happen?”

“It simply slipped my mind,” Wendy said, looking down at her folded hands. Indeed, she found herself with more exciting things to think about, nowadays, than expecting the daily and punctual arrival of a milk boy, no matter how charming she used to find the way he tipped his cap at her was.

“Of course,” Mother secured the braid with Wendy’s favorite yellow ribbon, that matched with the light color of her skirt of the day. Laying her palms on Wendy’s shoulders to keep her from leaving, Mother sat next to her on Wendy’s bed. “Besides, Matthew is not the only nice boy in town.”

“No, he is not.” Wendy admitted in a whisper, her gaze pulled to her window. Already awaiting for the night to fall. “Others are more… special.”

“Oh. I’m sure they are.” When Wendy turned back to her mother, she had a secret smile on her features and the glint in her brown eyes Wendy had already witnessed came back.

She tilted her head in question, but was given no explanations, only she witnessed her mother smile at her during the day, or whisper something in her father’s ear that neither her nor her brothers were privy to.

Finally, as the clock stroke eight in the evening, and her brothers and her had changed in their night clothes, the whole family reunited in the sitting room and sang in unison for their Aunt Millicent. Wendy was bouncing on the sofa, clapping her hands together and exchanging joyful looks with Michael, singing wholeheartedly until Father stopped playing the piano and asked them to quiet down, else they’d wake the whole neighborhood.

“But Father, it’s too early to sleep,” Michael protested, having learnt how to read the time the previous week and never missing the opportunity to complain about being sent to bed, proposition that he knew would happen sooner rather than later.

But Aunt Millicent had remarked on their liveliness, too, and so the children reluctantly obeyed, attempting to make themselves forgotten by their dignified aunt. It appeared the efforts remained vain, however, when Aunt Millicent asked for Wendy to stand up and show herself to her.

She complied, feeling a bit silly to be standing in the middle of the room under the barely concealed sniggers of her brothers. She turned and walked when her aunt asked her to, remembering doing such an exercise at school, the previous month, and so aiming to do so in a very ladylike way, the way Miss Albury had taught them to and the way she witnessed her mother do every day. Straight back, chin up, light feet and eyes smiling.

“Yes,” her aunt finally said with a pleased smile and a nod, once Bae, John and Michael had ceased making Wendy laugh. “This is rather good, though you should stand straighter. My, you are not very tall, but you may still grow up. How old is she, Mary?”

“She just turned fourteen.” Wendy’s birthday had been nine days ago, and she had received a hat from her parents, a storybook from Bae and John, a drawing from Michael and the girls at school sneaked some candied fruit in, during class. It had been a lovely day.

Her aunt hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of older girls who were still growing. We do are on the tall side, in the family.” Wendy then remembered her aunt’s indications, and stood straighter and lifted her head higher. “Better,” her aunt nodded approvingly. “There,” she put her fingers under Wendy’s chin and tilted it a certain way, “perfect. You certainly look like a woman grown, now.”

The comment took Wendy by surprise, and she felt her jaw drop slightly, ruining her aunt’s good work. She heard her father’s chuckle behind her as she followed her aunt with her eyes. “Wendy, a woman. No,” Father whispered, sounding almost like he was protesting against the idea, slowly shaking his head to himself when Wendy darted to look at him, not knowing what she should do, or what she should answer.

“Yes,” Aunt Millicent answered, in a tone that implied no discussion. Wendy thought she saw her father’s cheekbones turn pink, but she wouldn’t swear on it as her mind was more preoccupied with what her aunt had said. Wendy had never ever seen herself as a _woman_ , let alone a woman already _grown_ , and to have heard it so confidently said, as if her aunt was simply commenting about the weather of the day, was doing strange things to her belly. She felt confident that she didn’t know yet everything that being a woman implied. She darted a look at her brothers, and saw that the comment had upset and confused them too.

So it turned as a surprise to none of them when, after having waited a certain amount of time once Mother had wished them sweet dreams and closed the door of the nursery behind her, they all got up again and walked to where their parents and aunt were still talking, downstairs, taking great care in not making a noise.

“You need to start acting with this goal in mind, George,” Wendy heard Aunt Millicent said in a clear voice. “Introduce yourself to your manager. A daughter of a clerk will never hope to marry the son of a director, but she has all her chances with one of a manager, especially if she remains as pretty as she is.”

Wendy covered her mouth with both her hands to prevent a gasp from escaping. Marriage? But she was too young still to think about it! Vera’s sister had gotten married this summer, but she had been way older, seventeen at least!

“You should attend balls, too, of course, though I would wait a couple of months before taking her with you. She has this wildness in her… that needs to be tamed.” There was a pause, where neither Mother nor Father said a word. Wendy hoped that it was the shock, and that they would quietly agree to refuse and have everything stay just as it was, because this was perfect, and Wendy never ever wanted it to change. She didn’t want to be _tamed_.

“Wendy has always been… rather lively,” Father said, after some time. “It is part of her charm,” he added with a little chuckle.

“Yet it is unbecoming of an adult. No respectable man would agree on a union with a buoyant woman, you know it. Now, I am not blaming either of you, of course. She simply spends too much time with her brothers, for a young lady her age. Her brothers may be future gentlemen, but they are still children for now. I think she needs to start spending more time in company of proper and respectable ladies for her to start behaving like one all the time, and not just in public places.” 

“You are right, sister,” Father said. Wendy felt her cheeks and her eyes burn and she had to bite her lip to contain an indignant noise. “As much as it may displease us, it is for Wendy’s own good. Her future. We’ll start by giving her her own room, a young lady’s room.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, brother!” Aunt Millicent said. “And, as I understand how absorbing it must be to raise three sons as well as you are doing, I offer you my help with Wendy. She could come with me, to Bath, and I would take care of her education for a few months. She would return to you a proper young lady, and you could then introduce her to society and to the suitors you’ll find.”

It was too much for Wendy, and she preferred to go back to her bedroom before she heard her parents’ affirmative answer. Because it would be affirmative, she knew it. Her father would see this as a wonderfully unexpected opportunity, for her as well as for the family as a whole. He would consent.

She didn’t hear her brothers come up, but when she opened her eyes again, the room was silent, and she could make out three bundles behind the covers of the three beds. Soon, she mused, her throat closing at the thought, it will go back as it was before, and there will be only three beds in the nursery. She would have to go sleep in the room next to her parents’, in that room that was so far only used for guests.

But it wasn’t only a matter of simply switching from four walls to another four. It was all it implied.

She wouldn’t anymore hear when Michael had a nightmare, nor try to make sense of Bae’s sleeping mumblings when she couldn’t slept a wink, turning and tossing in her bed as the morning sun rose and she thought back on Peter’s flying and wishing she was able to do the same over and over again. There wouldn’t be story-time before bed. There wouldn’t be hushed conversations with her brothers before falling asleep. There wouldn’t be the comforting sound of their mingling breathing to lull her to sleep. There wouldn’t be the alluring moves of her otherworldly friend to gaze upon during the night.

All of that, gone in the blink of an eye.

Forever.

Wendy stifled a sob, feeling very sorry for herself, and lifted her hand to wipe at the cheek that wasn’t pressed against her pillow. Truly, growing up and becoming a lady seemed more trouble than it was worth. She didn’t want it.

A gentle tap roused her from her saddening considerations, and the sight of Peter floating behind the window glass, his head cocked to one side as he noticed her on her bed, was sufficient for her lips to curl into a smile, albeit a small one. She stood up and curtseyed, her smile widening as he bowed in turn. She sniffled lightly as she padded to the quilted bench, determined to enjoy his fly as it could be the last time she saw him do so.

That thought brought another hiccup, and she watched Peter lay both his hands on the pane, seemingly floating closer in concern. She quickly wiped away any remaining tears and the handle gyred on itself. She watched it turn oh so slowly, Bae’s warnings resonating in her ears. He thought magic was bad, he had told her it had destroyed his family and had ordered her not to come close to Peter anymore. He thought Peter was bad, too, because he could fly, and flying was impossible.

But Bae didn’t know Peter had tried to come in, once, and had stopped when she had wished it. He didn’t know Peter came back every night or so, that he would bow before her and then entertain her with loops and mimes, never trying to come in again.

Why was tonight different, Wendy couldn’t figure out. Maybe something awful happened to him, too, she mused. Or maybe, just maybe, he had seen her cry, or heard her sad thoughts, and wanted to comfort her, like a friend would.

That decided her to be brave and daring, and she watched the handle moving and didn’t wish for it to stop.

The window opened on its own, too, and cool air made Wendy’s hair fly away from her face. She took a hesitant step forward, and then she heard it. Peter’s voice. It was faint, as if he was only whispering in her ear, just for her, like she was special, and airy, as if it was only the wind forming words. “Why are you crying, Wendy Moira Angela Darling?”

Wendy’s mouth parted. Her heart started to pound widely, though she couldn’t say if it was from her daringness of having the window open, or the fact that Peter was here, still floating outside the room as if waiting for her explicit invitation, or that he was talking to her, kindly enquiring about her tears and saying her name, the very same name she had written many nights ago and that he remembered.

“I am sad,” she said in a whisper, too, hoping he could hear her, and only him. Her brothers were all peacefully sleeping, and she certainly didn’t want them to wake up. Wendy didn’t elaborate, not wanting to annoy him with what he would surely think was a silly problem. She didn’t know how old he was, but he surely looked taller than her, so she assumed older too. But he kindly enquired why, and she forgot her reservations and told him everything: her aunt, her parents, Bath, the nursery, growing up.

Peter had such a backward movement when she spoke of growing up that she giggled, amused by his antics and grateful for his attempt to lift her mood. She lowered her eyes, “I don’t want to grow up,” she admitted in a whisper, the words sounding more right on her tongue than she would have expected them to. After all, everybody grew up, and she used to await it most ardently, when she was younger.

“You should come with me,” Peter said, then, like it was an answer to her wish. Was he a genie, as well?

Wendy rose her head, her brows furrowing lightly in incomprehension. “Come with you,” she repeated, uncertain, “but where would we go, Peter?” She had never saw him walk, and she couldn’t fly. Did he assume she could?

“To Neverland!” She saw him hesitate. “That’s where he lives,” he added, insisting on the ‘he’, “I’m only his shadow.”

“His… shadow?”

“Peter Pan’s shadow.” Wendy frowned, for that story about Peter not being Peter but the shadow of someone else who was Peter was a bit confusing. “He sends me to other lands, to see what happens and to bring back all the boys that want to come, and believe still, when he can’t go himself. You could come with me, meet him and the Lost Boys, and live the greatest adventure. You wouldn’t have to grow up; there are no grown-ups in Neverland.”

The Shadow was talking on and on about how nice and fun life would be, and Wendy found herself entranced by the wonderful picture he painted before her eyes. Her very own adventure, wasn’t what she always dreamt of? And to not grow up, on top of it all. Wasn’t tonight her very last chance of doing so? And with Peter, the true Peter Pan who was surely a human boy like she was. Oh, it sounded lovely.

“Where is it?”

The Shadow turned and lifted a hand to the sky, pointing out a spot Wendy couldn’t discern. “Second star to the right, and straight on ‘till morning.”

She laughed with delight, “And how do we get there?”

“Well, by flying of course!” he said, as if it was the most evident thing. Wendy felt her heart start to pound; she didn’t want to disappoint her friend, but she had to tell him.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“For you, it will be easy,” he assured, “but for now, all you have to do is take my hand.” He offered it and, true to his word, when she held his hand, she felt her feet rise from the ground. He let her float for a bit, not far from the ground, before he let go of her hand to make a few loops, allowing Wendy to come back to her senses. She had flown! She could fly!

She stayed a moment, beatific, all her sadness and troubles forgotten.

“So, will you?” the Shadow asked again, holding out his hand.

Wendy bit the inside of her cheek, the intense wish to take it and follow it to that wonderful magical land nearly overcoming every reservation she knew she should have. “Would… that be alright with him?” The Shadow had talked about boys, after all, he hadn’t mentioned anything about girls. “Won’t he be… dissatisfied if I come instead of a boy?”

The Shadow tilted his head in a way that was starting to grow familiar to her. She briefly wondered if it was a habit of that other Peter Pan that had simply transferred to his shadow and wondered if she would be daring enough to go seek the answer herself.

Yes, she decided, her mouth stretching into a wide grin by itself, she would. Her chest felt like it would burst soon with a concoction of delight and trepidation. 

“Well, he doesn’t precisely know that I’m here, only that I traveled to the Land Without Magic, today. But,” he added precipitately when he saw her frown deepen, “I am him. I wouldn’t be here, talking to you, if he didn’t want me to, at least a little.” Wendy sighed in relief. “He won’t-”

The Shadow flew away before he could finish his sentence, leaving Wendy with no explanation as she stood frozen, leaning over the window and staring at the nothing in front of her, not understanding what just happened.

“No,” she heard someone whisper behind her, then, and she understood, “no Wendy, get away from there.”

She turned to see Bae get out of his bed and walk to her, his suspicious eyes never leaving the window, as if he knew she had disobeyed him. Wendy raised her hands in a placating gesture, assuring him that he didn’t have to be afraid, “He doesn’t want to hurt us,” she told him, explaining what the Shadow had just told her, but she could see that Bae still looked concerned. He didn’t believe her, just like he hadn’t believed her when she had told them about the Shadow, for the very first time.

And, just like this first time, Bae would be wrong for this one as well.

“Wendy, please don’t listen to him,” Bae said, but it was _him_ she wasn’t listening to anymore. She had seen the way he had looked, when Father and Aunt Millicent had talked about marriage; he had smiled. She remembered how he had told her magic was bad, but Peter and his shadow had been nothing but kind and understanding to her. Wendy wanted to go meet them. She wanted to see Neverland, to see the mermaids and fairies and magic the Shadow had told her about, even the pirates, maybe one day. She wanted to live her promised adventure, the one thing she had wished for, had waited for all her life.

Magic was real, just like she had always thought it was. She couldn’t believe it could be bad. Maybe it was the reason Bae was separated from his previous family, maybe it meant he wouldn’t come with them to Neverland, but she thought the least he could do was to understand her. To be happy for her.

Thus, she turned to the Shadow again, who had reappeared – probably when he realized that it had only been Bae, and not any grown-ups, and took the hand reaching to her. Instantly, she felt herself float, ready to be pulled to her adventure, and her new, better life. Her heart was beating soundly, and her hands were probably sweating a bit, but she couldn’t stop smiling. But then Bae grabbed her other hand, stopping her and talking about how her place wasn’t anywhere near magic, or exciting things, or flying people. How she belonged in that dull life.

Wendy wiggled her fingers, wanting nothing more than for him to let her go. She tried to assure him that it was what she wanted, what she had always dreamt of – except she wasn’t Dorothy, being swept away to the Wonderful Oz, or Cinderella, whose fairy godmother whisked her away to the ball and to her prince charming, but Wendy Darling, about to fly to Neverland.

“You just don’t believe!” she finally said as she felt herself go higher and higher and the nursery’s window grew smaller and smaller. She thought she heard her brother cry out her name, but she was more focused on the Shadow telling her to hold tight and look at that second star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we'll come back to Neverland next week!
> 
> Until then, have nice end-of-the-year celebrations! :)


	10. Meeting Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter! Several meetings happen in this one (and not only the one told by the title)

The feeling of flying was impossible to describe. The cold wind of December whipping at her face, her hair, making her nightdress flap against her legs and the sound of it blowing in her ears was all she could sense, as she focused her attention on holding on the Shadow’s hand as tight as she could, less she’d fall. They had passed through the clouds, and the misty grey of it now clung on her eyelashes and threatened to come in her eyes each time she blinked. She saw out of the corner of her eyes the Shadow turn his head to her. “Don’t be afraid, you won’t fall,” he said as he brought her closer to where he was, and she could hear his voice as well as she had when she had had her feet on the ground.

The only indication that they were indeed moving toward a specific place was the star, that especial second star to the right Wendy hadn’t stopped looking at, just as the Shadow had told her to. It was growing larger and larger as they moved closer to it. At one moment, it seemed so big that it looked like it was going to engulf them whole, and Wendy opened her mouth wide to take a deep breath of the icy air and held her breath, tightening her hand and closing her eyes in fright.

She saw the light become more vibrant, even through her lids, not different than when she would turn her face to the sun, in summer, and let its bright light warm up her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She imagined it was such a moment, that instead of being up beyond the clouds, she was sitting on the grass, in Kensington Gardens, with Father and Mother, and John and Michael playing behind her. She could even hear their boyish laughter and war play cries, mingling with the ones of other children. The day was perfectly warm, the light breeze grazing her face and replacing the use of her fan, and Wendy felt so light.

The realization of her daydream made her eyes flutter open, and an amazed gasp escaped her at the sight before her. It was bright day, and they weren’t flying above London anymore, but above a deep-blue river that extended as far as she could see. Was that the sea? Wendy couldn’t help but wonder, gazing at her reflection as the Shadow brought them closer to the surface, obviously having noticed her marveling and humoring her.

She smiled at the nice attention, and they flew back up to their previous high. An island, covered with more trees than she had ever seen in her life, stood in their direction. Neverland. Shouts and laughter seemed to come from it, and not simply from her imagination. Wendy’s own delighted one joined them.

She tried to catch the Shadow’s eyes to ask him about it, but he was looking straight ahead. Then, as she had nothing else to do but to go with the flow, she raised the arm that wasn’t currently clinging on the Shadow’s hand for dear life, as they flew higher, past the trees. “Where are we going?” she shouted at the Shadow, but he didn’t hear her. Wendy shrugged, deciding that it was for the best – one never knew where they were going before one’s adventure started, after all. Wherever the Shadow was taking her was sure to be wonderful, and Wendy trusted him to know what he was doing better than-

So absorbed that she was with her considerations and thrill that the sharp turn the Shadow took so suddenly frightened her so much she let out a small yelp. There, right in front of her eyes, she saw rocks as big as her hand and sticks flying in the air, coming from beneath the trees. One of the sticks grazed the hand holding the Shadow’s hand, stinging.

Wendy gasped and suddenly she wasn’t flying high in the sky anymore, but falling more quickly than she would have imagined toward the ground.

Her arms reached out, for branches she could hold on to, but all she could grab were small leaves that remained in her hands, useless, as she was starting to see the grass under her. She covered her face as she braced herself for the impact and her certain death, but neither of these ever came.

Instead, the Shadow beat her to the ground and took her in his arms, stopping her fall and floating the last meters that separated her from the grass as she clung to him before laying her gently on it. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was his face standing so close, and the familiar sight calmed her down a bit. Wendy offered a grateful smile, albeit a shaky one, and he nodded once before flying away, leaving her alone. She blinked her tears away as several joyful shouts made themselves heard not far from where she was, signaling the upcoming arrival of Wendy’s future friends.

She pressed a hand against her furiously beating heart until it calmed down slightly.

“I got it! I got it!” a boy’s voice shouted.

“It was me!” another yelled, and Wendy could hear their footsteps coming closer, making the ground rattle in a rhythmic pace.

Soon, several boys appeared all around her, coming from various paths behind the trees. They halted a few feet away from where Wendy had hurried back on her feet, dusting some dirt off her white nightdress, glancing nervously at the boys that stood, their mouths and eyes wide open, gaping at her.

Wendy struggled not to return the expression back.

They all wore dark green or brown clothes, tattered in various places, and had probably rolled themselves in mud and dirt just before. Their hair were untamed. Some wore hats, other didn’t. She saw that at least four of them had started whispering to one another, and though she couldn’t make out the words she knew they were probably about her, and the thought made her cheeks flare up. Some were younger than her, other definitely older, but none of them looked like grown-ups, just like the Shadow had promised. Wendy rapidly found herself surrounded, observing them as they observed her.

“It’s a girl, silly!” One whisper came to her ears, as it had been intended for a boy that didn’t stand close to the one who had spoken.

Another, one of the tall one, with dark skin and long hair twisted in what appeared like braids, took three steps and drew a sword, pointing it at her. Wendy startled even before he started to speak. “If it’s one of hook’s trick-” Hurriedly, her hands raised in front of her and she took three steps back. She didn’t understand why he was talking about a hook, but she didn’t have any, and she didn’t know any trick either. She had only just arrived there. She stammered as much to him and it made him reconsider her. “Who’re you, then?”

Wendy stood straighter at this, smiling politely at him even though he still had a sword – and it looked like a real one, the blade of it shining under the sun – drawn at her and her legs were still trembling both from her falling and almost death, the Shadow rescuing her, and a sudden shyness at being surrounded by so many unknown boys.

“My name is Wendy,” she murmured, “I come from London,” but the other boy didn’t introduce himself in turn. Squinting at their faces, Wendy tried to guess which one of them the Shadow belonged to. She couldn’t believe that boy in front of her who was still eyeing her so suspiciously was Peter. “The Shadow brought me here,” she added which was apparently the wrong thing to say as they all started to laugh at her, and the talking resumed.

They had the tendency of all speaking over one another, but some bits and pieces reached her.

“Well, of course it did!”

“You say she’s a girl? Are all girls like her?”

“I don’t know. But at least she knows the Shadow is a shadow, right Wiley?”

“No one can come unless the Shadow allows ‘em to,” another boy explained in a kinder tone, and she smiled in thanks to him.

“Indeed,” a voice coming from behind Wendy said, covering all the others who stopped talking at once. She turned her head as the boy who spoke stepped inside the circle the others had formed. He was tall, more than the one who stood in front of her, and walked up to her slowly, carefully. Though he wasn’t holding any sort of weapon toward Wendy. His forehead was creased as if he was pondering something, and his head was tilted just so.

Wendy smiled. “Peter Pan,” she mouthed to herself. It was him, she gathered, feeling sure of herself, despite none of the boys having introduced themselves. As answer, his eyebrows briefly shot up and a pure delighted expression appeared on his face.

“Himself,” he confirmed, and Wendy’s smile widened. It felt as if she had just passed a test successfully. Then, turning to the others, “This time, it appears the Shadow brought us not a fellow comrade, but a lady.” A few murmured somethings came from the group, and Peter turned his attention fully back to Wendy, speaking only to her. “You’ll have to forgive Rufio for this, Wendy, he isn’t the most amiable of fellow to strangers.”

Peter nodded to the so-called Rufio, who finally put away his sword and gave what could be called an apologizing smile if one was generous.

Wendy was feeling most generous, and so she beamed at Rufio, everything already forgotten. Peter laughed, a light and airy sound that left his mouth twisted in a smile, his eyes crinkling with delight and looking as excited as she felt.

“Well then,” Peter said, raising one eyebrow and opening his arms, his palms turned to her, “welcome to Neverland, Wendy.” He invited her to follow them, then.

Neverland looked and felt even better than what the Shadow had briefly told her it was. Each step felt welcoming, as if even the moss and grass received her foot as gladly as Peter had extended his welcome. It made Wendy’s smile grow, and her eyes widen even more, trying to take it all in.

Wendy’s mind was overwhelmed with all the wonders she glimpsed as she followed Peter and the other boys back to camp. Neverland truly looked like a wonderful place indeed, and she couldn’t wait to discover every inch of it. But for now, she took great care to not lose sight of them, for fear of getting lost.

One of them, with light, long enough to brush the top of his shoulders, hair and a kind-looking face covered in freckles, looked back to check on her, grinning when he saw her hurry her steps to catch up with them. Wendy smiled back at him – his name was Nibs, which she remembered well as he had been the first one to introduce himself.

Next to him was Slightly, who, despite his name, wasn’t small at all, with dark brown, slightly intimidating eyes and dark curled hair.

Slightly, not to be confused with Curly, who had curled hair as well, albeit much more so than the taller, older boy. He looked the youngest of them by far, and was peering at her under his lashes, his hands clutched around what appeared like a small branch, but always turning his eyes away shyly when she would catch him looking and smile at him.

Peter and Rufio led the way at the front, walking back to their camp where they all lived and showing her the way at the same time. Wendy was thrumming with impatience at the idea of seeing it all, but felt herself too shy to catch up to them and start a conversation. And Rufio still glanced at her with puzzlement. Her arrival hadn’t been the best either, although Wendy had almost already entirely forgotten the burning embarrassment at her fall.

The two boys walking the closest to her, who looked most alike, walked arm and in arm and had introduced themselves as the Twins had told her about the trees and a secret passage that led below ground and sounded most thrilling indeed.

On her other side was Tootles, clutching a bow as Slightly was, who Wendy had caught sometimes stealing guilty glances at her.

Then, at the end of the march, were Felix, a very tall, quiet boy whose hair looked somewhat like Nibs’, Fox, who looked her age and had paints all over his face, and Wiley, who had called her my lady when he had introduced himself.

Wendy hoped she hadn’t misremembered any of them, as their names all sounded quite peculiar to her.

Though Baelfire’s had at first, as well. This was simply how children were called in magical lands, rather than Matthew, Benjamin, or George. She wondered if Peter and Felix came from Earth, too, and found her belly fluttering at the thought of sharing a common point with the tall boy who the Shadow belonged to and who seemed so at ease in that magical, wonderful land.

As she remembered reading somewhere, one always has something to talk about, when one comes from the same place. The character had been talking about a small and secluded village, but Wendy felt it applied just as well for an entire planet.

After what looked a very long trek through a jungle to Wendy, as she was quite tired of her previous day and all that had happened and her hand had begun to sting, reminding her of the cut on her palm that had made her let go of the Shadow’s hand, they finally arrived at an immense tree, its open trunk forming what looked like a cave.

This was the camp. “For the meals, we bring the table and the benches,” Peter explained further at her perplexed look. “During night, we take them away to sleep.”

“How do you bring them here?” To Wendy, it sounded ridiculously tedious to carry a large table to host everybody, and two benches for every meal instead of dedicating a space to have them remain at. Like a dining room. Especially since she couldn’t see table and benches around.

Her question brought some laughter all around her, the boys having once again formed a circle around her. It made her shuffle her weight slightly, feeling as if she was in the middle of a stage and expected to perform a trick. All of them obviously were puzzled of her coming her, and didn’t know how to act around her.

Only Peter seemed keen in answering her questions, though that came as no surprise to Wendy at all.

“We summon them. Like this, you see.” Thus, before Wendy’s very eyes, Peter’s hand opened and showed her the small acorn that hadn’t been there a second before.

“How did you do this?” she gasped as Peter let the acorn fall into her cupped hands. Wendy prodded at it absentmindedly, but it felt as real as any acorn ever had. “It is wonderful.” Peter laughed, but this time the sound held some more hints of satisfaction. Around them, the other boys quickly walked away one by one, or two by two, until there was only he and she remaining, as well as Rufio, still looking puzzledly at her. “Can I do it too?” she asked, not even waiting for his answer to her first question.

She had a thousand of them, anyway.

“N-Perhaps,” he amended. “Yes, I suppose it could come in handy for you as well. It works like everything else in this world. You have to believe in it, and then it should appear.” Her brows raised, Wendy let a chuckle spill past her lips. To believe, that was all? It sounded so easy. “Go on then. Try it.”

“If I believe I can fly, I will?” she checked one last time, her heart already pounding at the thought that she would be able to fly in mere moments. She had only done so twice, the first time being for mere seconds only, but she already loved it more than anything.

Peter’s eyes widened and Wendy could have sworn he looked at her with a sort of unexpected appreciation in them. “Flying? That’s very daring for… someone who just fell during her first fly. But no, flying does not work like this.”

“Will I ever be able to fly?” Wendy felt the first tendrils of disappointment curl in her belly. Flying looked like so much fun, she wanted to do it all the time.

“I’ll teach you, if you want, one day,” he promised, his head tilted. Wendy beamed at him, awaiting expectantly the moment already. “But you won’t fly if you can’t first use your head on something a bit less grandiose. Go on, imagine… anything, and it should come true.”

Imagining anything? Wendy suddenly had no idea what she wanted to have, when the possibilities were suddenly infinite. Closing her eyes, she first thought of a wolf, and then an oak tree, just like the one she had seen at the camp, but Peter had said something less grandiose, so she settled just for this. When she felt that it worked, she opened her hand and showed Peter her healed palm.

All blood had disappeared, and it looked and felt like no wound had ever graced the skin.

He spent some time looking at it, not saying anything at all, seemingly unsure about what to think of it, and Wendy found herself unsure in turn, wondering if she should have thought of anything else. A flower? Some clothes?

“That is…” he trailed off, the sentence lost as his thoughts appeared to be before he straightened up. “Follow me, Wendy.”

“Where are we going?”

“Look for a place for you to sleep.”

As apparently, the boys – Lost Boys – usually slept under the stars and, while at first Wendy had made a move to assure she wouldn’t mind sleeping under the stars as well, Peter’s addition about the absence of pillows or mattress and the presence of unexpected storms bursting in the middle of the night changed her mind.

“A place with a roof would be nice, indeed,” she acquiesced, her cheeks warming lightly when he snorted, seeing right through her pirouette. Moreover, Wendy would be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that the thought of being special wasn’t kindly thought-of. As was being the only one having her own private place to sleep in a camp full of unknown boys. “Thank you, Peter.”

“So, what did my Shadow tell you, besides my name?” Peter asked after some time, as he held a branch for her.

“He told me about how Neverland is a wonderful place.” He nodded, smiling approvingly, and so Wendy resumed enthusiastically. “One where there isn’t any grown-up and anything is possible. And he told me there were mermaids and pirates and _fairies_ ,” she ended with a wistful sigh.

The last bit was something Wendy was particularly impatient to see for herself. As they had wandered around, first with the entire Lost Boys to the camp and then only Peter and her to find a place where she could sleep, whatever that meant, she had tried to glimpse one flying around, without any success. The truth was, Wendy had no idea what a true fairy would look like.

Her slight emphasis didn’t pass unnoticed by Peter, who turned to her, his mouth curled into a small smirk. “Fairies, right? I could introduce you to one. Would that please you?”

“Oh yes. That would be marvelous. Could you, truly?” It still seemed so extraordinary to her, to talk so casually about meeting fairies, and flying, and doing true magic.

“Of course. It’s the least I can do, since out of the three, it is the only creature you’ll be able to see.”

No mermaids? “Don’t mermaids exist?” She couldn’t believe Peter’s Shadow would lie. Not that it would hold any importance if he did, since it didn’t erase anything to the fact that Wendy, while definitely not dreaming, was wandering around a magical island, walking with its creator, and talking about meeting fairies.

To be true, she always had a preference for meeting a true fairy, rather than a mermaid or a pirate. Though mermaids sounded amazing, as well.

“They do, as well as pirates.”

“Then why should I never see one? Are they shy?”

“They’re not,” Peter said as he stopped and turned to face her, looking more serious than Wendy expected. “But mermaids live in the sea, and the sea is dangerous.” Her brows raised. Dangerous? “It’s where pirates are, as well, and who knows what they’d do to you.” He paused suddenly as she shivered, looking up and down at her, a corner of his mouth curling up. “I suppose you don’t know how to fight.”

“I don’t, no.”

Peter snorted lightly, though it was so soft Wendy wondered if she hadn’t misheard. When he began to talk again, his voice had turned back to its previous seriousness, as had his face. “No, so you have to promise me you won’t go to the shore on your own. If you wish to, you have to tell me first. Do you promise now?”

Wendy nodded without hesitation, “I do. I promise,” and returned the smile he gave her. She had never broken any rule in her life, and didn’t intend to start. Never mind the mermaids.

“Alright. I’ll take you see a fairy, then. How’s tomorrow morning for you? She has to leave before noon, but she’s here at the moment.”

Her smile widened, and all thoughts of mermaids disappeared from her mind. “It’s perfect.”

“Hm, I certainly hope so. And what about this place, Wendy?” Looking around without departing herself of her smile, Wendy nodded. “Yes, I like it as well. Not too far from camp in case of attacks, but far enough to have some privacy.”

“Attacks? Is there a chance we’ll be attacked?”

“Not you, do not worry. No one knows about your presence here, lest of all the pirates. As long as this remains this way, they won’t try to hurt you. But, since you don’t know how to fight, if you wish for someone to stand watch before your house, then I shall.”

Her house? Peter standing watch for her?

The idea brought a flutter in her belly. How could she refuse? A gallant knight protecting his lady. Yes, Wendy loved quite a lot the idea.

“That would be nice of you, if it’s not too much trouble, please.”

“It’s not. So, here? Wanna watch?” he asked, darting a look behind his shoulder to Wendy’s nod and following answer.

Thus she admired, mouth slightly dropped in wonder, as Peter laid his palm against the bark of a tree, turning its trunk wider and its branches thicker. Then, some of them curved and curled, building walls and a roof. Windows carved themselves, as well as pretty trims around them. Lastly, a door and a doorknocker finished the exterior.

In a couple of seconds, Wendy was standing in front of wooden stairs, leading to her very own house. “After you,” Peter said, gesturing for her to climb first and discover the insides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)  
> We're now back in Neverland and will stay here for a while, now
> 
> The next chapters will (at least) focus more on Peter and Wendy's relationship


	11. The Brother, the Mother and the Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter, Wendy's first day on Neverland...  
> I hope you enjoy it!

When Wendy climbed down the steps of her stairs on that first morning, she couldn’t help the soft sigh, nor the down curve of her mouth, to escape her as she didn’t find Peter. He had made good on his promise to keep her safe that first evening. Had walked her back to her treehouse after dinner and had stood watch when she had taken a peek through her window before going to bed. The last thing she had seen that day had been him standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the trees, and the picture had followed her back to her bed, giving her nice dreams. 

She wouldn’t have minded greeting him first this morning either, but resolved to the circumstance. Thus, she walked on her own to the camp, remembering how Tootles had assured her that she would never get lost in Neverland, the previous evening, after having apologized profusely for hurting her hand and scaring her. 

Wendy wandered around, trying to recall the trees, the grass or the path that she had taken not one day ago. Though it was true to say she hadn’t paid one bit of attention to her surroundings, even when she and Peter had done nothing else but walk together in silence. Her thoughtlessness made her chuckle aloud, and Wendy would have begun to worry soon after if someone didn’t barge out of the trees and ran straight to her. 

“Oof,” they both made when they half-stumbled to the ground. “Goodness, are you alright?”

“Aye,” the boy sniffed as haughtily as he could, which to be fair, wasn’t a lot. The little part of haughtiness managed to disappear when he shook his head to dislodge a twig sticking up from his curls when she pointed at it, kicking it away. Wendy’s lips stretched in a fond smile. “I’m fine.”

Wendy chuckled as she gingerly straightened up, and then helped him sweep the dirt off his face and clothes as best as she could. Her smile faltered slightly. Goodness, but that boy looked like he hadn’t seen a bath in weeks and Wendy tutted under her breath. “What on earth were you doing there?”

“Did I surprise you?” This was the least one could say. At her confirming nod, though, Curly’s entire face lightened up. “I’m training to be silent before attacks. Nibs’ the best at surprise ones, but I’m the second, and not far at all.”

“So was I under attack just now?”

“Nah. Peter says you’re a lady,” Curly stated, then paused, seemingly waiting for another confirmation or denial. “We can’t attack ladies, he said.”

“Oh, well, I can’t say for sure I am a lady yet.” Her aunt Millicent, and Miss Albury would certainly disagree with such a claim, though Wendy couldn’t deny she found the regard she was treated with charming.

“If Peter says you are, then that means you are.” Curly paused once again, before the look of the past day appeared anew, and he gazed at her with wonder. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“There’s never been any girl here?”

“Not here, not even when I wasn’t here, before.”

The offhand remark made Wendy stop. She frowned. “Not befo- you cannot be serious. You must have.”

But Curly opened his eyes wide and shook his head earnestly. “I haven’t.”

“Your mother, for starter, is one.”

“Don’t have any mother. What is it?”

“You-” she spluttered, and it was her turn to be surprised. “It can’t be true. Everyone has a mother, lest you would not be born.” Inside her chest, her heart clenched as she suddenly remembered the words of Peter’s Shadow.

“Not me. I don’t have one. I don’t know how I was born. Why? What is a mother?”

Blinking successively, Wendy strived to explain it, as best as she could. Talking about unconditional love and cheek kisses, nice hugs and helping hand. It wasn’t an easy fate, but she hoped Curly could picture it. Mayhap he could summon one for himself, that way, like Peter did that acorn? Her heart ached at the thought of him never knowing his mother, though she knew it happened sometimes. But what about his father? Was he like Bae, abandoned by him, on top of it all?

“As for the rest,” she continued, trying to point out everything her own mother did to her and her brothers, and not forget anything, “they have the softest eyes in the world, and always wish the best for you. They tell stories and look after you when you’re sick.”

She stopped talking for a moment, glancing and then smiling at Curly’s serious face as he considered her words. “Are you one?”

The question made her cheeks warm up, and Wendy tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, not knowing what to say. “Well, no. I am too young to be one.” All Wendy had ever done was to play one, to her various dolls and, sometimes, to Michael and John, when the latter had been younger, and had tolerated it.

Surely that was not the same thing. She was old enough to understand that.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t do what to do.”

“Can’t you… Can’t you tell stories?”

“I can,” Wendy said, smiling, delighted to have found a place. She could tell stories indeed. She loved to. “I will.”

“Could you be my mother, then? I won’t tell that you’re too young, I swear.” Curly even raised his palm in a gesture of vow. His eyes had turned pleading, and there was no reluctance to be had, truly.

Bouncing slightly on her feet, Wendy nodded. “Of course,” she said, her smile turning wider when Curly returned it.

“Now what do we do?”

“Well, um…” She hesitated, as usually Mother would greet everyone with a kiss on their cheek, but Curly’s was still more dirty than Wendy, as his mother, would like. But there was a quick solution to this, she remembered, before making a bucket full of lukewarm water appear by their feet. She gestured for him to come closer. “First, you need to wash your face and hands, and then we shall go eat our breakfast.”

Curly enthusiastically agreed, splashing water on Wendy’s skirt in the process when he threw half his arms inside the bucket. They walked to the camp after that, hand in hand, and ate eggs, bacon and toast sitting on a tree stump.

All was wonderful, and Wendy had noticed Peter in deep discussion with Rufio and Felix, all three of them sitting cross-legged on the ground in a circle and deeply focused on something they were passing between themselves. Peter had noticed her as well, and had stared at her for a couple of minutes as she was eating, holding what looked like a piece of paper in his hands. Wendy had tried to make him understand that she hadn’t forgotten their promise of the past day, to go see this Tinkerbell fairy, and that she would be ready when he shall.

Things soured, however, when Curly introduced her as “his mother” to Fox, attracting the attention of every other Lost Boy around. Peter, Rufio and Felix were sitting too far to have heard, but it hadn’t been the case of Fox, to whom the pointed words were mainly addressed at, Tootles, the Twins, as well as Wiley.

Before Wendy could think or do anything, Fox gave an indignant cry, claiming that, as the most ancient boy here, he had the right to have a mother before Curly did.

“You don’t even know what a mother is!” Curly protested back.

“Doesn’t matter!”

“We do, we do,” the Twins said, utterly at the same time.

“A mother is someone who tells stories,” the first one said.

“And who makes us pockets at night and sing to us,” the second one added.

“Please, Wendy-lady, will you be mine?”

“No, mine, mine.”

“No! She is mine! I asked her first!”

“But you’re the littlest! I won the last fight against the pirates!”

“And you’re a cheater!”

“Boys, boys, do calm down.” Wendy lifted her hands in a placating gesture. “There’s no need to fight.”

“But he said-”

She cut Curly’s protest with a wave of her hand and a pointed look. “Now, listen. You don’t need to fight amongst yourselves. I’ll be delighted to be your mother, to all of you.”

“All of us at the same time?”

“It’s possible?”

“Yes, it is. It is how it’s done, when mothers have several children. They love and care for each of them. They tell them stories, and tuck them into bed at night, just like you said indeed.”

With a bit more explanations, the Boys agreed to share their new mother without fighting, and Wendy listened to them describe the greatest fate they could remember doing before she came here until Tootles brought her a flower, as he claimed it was something children gave to their mother, and all the others scattered around, looking for better flowers to bring back to her.

Using the opportunity to stand up and move around, Wendy walked to where Peter, Rufio and Felix were still sitting in circle, curiosity getting the better of her.

“What are you- Oh!”

Peter’s reflexes were too fast, however, and he pulled the drawing out of her sight, leaving her unsure of the face she had just seen upon it.

“Maybe we could show her,” Felix said, which, if Wendy was honest, were the very first words she heard him say since she arrived.

Finding herself even more curious, now, Wendy smiled at Peter, both encouragingly and pleadingly. The boy looked hesitant to, before he reluctantly handed her the piece of paper, the same one she had seen him stare at intently when she had arrived in camp.

With all the care in the world, Wendy took it and peered at it, wondering at first what kind of treasure laid underneath the drawn lines. The moment itself felt important, as if with handing her that drawing, Peter included her in some secret she hadn’t been supposed to have access to, at first.

It all turned her hands clammy, but Wendy still observed every line and curve, her brows furrowing, her head tilting to one side. To be fair, the more she was looking, the more the resemblance she had only glimpsed at first became striking.

“It’s funny,” she noted, chuckling one last time to herself before making a move to give the paper back to Peter.

At once, however, he leaned forward and utterly disregarded the drawing. “What is?”

Wendy looked at it a second time, carefully checking she wasn’t making any mistake at the sight of Peter’s intense face. But no, the nose and bottom of his face, it was all like Bae. “This boy drawn here. He looks like my brother.”

“Her brother,” Peter breathed out, his eyes suddenly gleaming with joy. “Of course.”

“Who is it?”

“A boy we’ve been looking for, for quite some time.”

“Really? Do you need help to find him?” Perhaps Bae had a brother he had inadvertently forgotten to tell her about, or a cousin, still living in that magical land he had come from.

“No need of that. You’ve just given the only cue we were missing.” 

Her brows lifted. “Because I said he looked like-”

“Wendy, would you like to go see the fairy now?” Peter asked, making all confusion, and thought of this family relative of Bae disappear, in favor of much more fascinating prospects. Meeting a fairy for the first time was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It looked like the boy drawn was often lengthily talked about. She nodded enthusiastically. “Off we go, then. Rufio, look over the boys while we’re gone. If you’d follow me.” Peter gestured for her to walk ahead.

Their first steps were made in silence, Wendy’s heart thrumming in her chest with impatience as she struggled not to skip forward and wait for Peter.

“Does he have a name?” she asked, then, her chin jerking to the drawing Peter still had, tucked in the inside pocket of his cloak.

“No,” Peter said, his tone sounding slightly surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. “I suppose we should indeed find him one, as well.”

“As well? What does it mean?”

“I give everyone a new name when they come here, except for a few exceptions.”

“Why?”

Peter looked even more surprised at the question, and his head cocked to one side as his eyes lost their focus and his walking slowed down. “Well, I never thought much about it,” he murmured almost under his breath, before his head straightened up and he picked up his previous pace. “But,” he said, louder, “it made sense, at the time. To have them begin their new life, a better life, with a better name.”

Saying nothing, Wendy nodded, lowering her head to hide her small smile. Not because it seemed funny to her that anyone could find names such as Curly, Nibs or Tootles better names at all. People coming from magical lands, which was surely the case of Peter, did have peculiar names to her ear. She was more used to names such as Edward, Henry, William, or Thomas. Suddenly Wendy found herself curious to know whether he had come here like she had, or simply been born on Neverland.

But because, by welcoming boys in Neverland, inviting them to stay there for all their lives and giving them new names, Peter acted like a father to them. A father, like she had become a mother to some of the Lost Boys as well, the ones who had wanted her to be.

If this shall be what her adventure was, then Wendy was content. She jumped straight to the ending, the they had lots of children and lived happily ever after, without all the plights and pains of the middle of the story. There only lacked the previous point: the kiss.

So, with such an idea turning in her mind, it was no wonder Wendy, when she lifted her head again and pushed her hair away, arbored an uncharacteristically bashful smile and even more bashful words. “I think they are really great names.” She gulped before looking up to his face. “What shall be mine?”

“Yours?”

“Well, yes!” Wendy paused, though, feeling her smile die down. “Won’t I get one?”

“You will, if you want,” Peter shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

She didn’t know what to think of that shrug, but accepted gladly his promise. Soon, anyway, any opportunity to wonder more about it disappeared as they glimpsed a treehouse, somehow similar looking as her own, though definitely smaller and cramped.

“Here she is,” Peter said, before turning to Wendy. “I must warn you, Tinkerbell can be… blunt and outspoken. I’ll go talk to her first, wait for a few minutes here, alright?”

“Alright.”

Peter flew to the treehouse, which door was a hole in the ground, contrary to her own who had its own, real door. They greeted each other loudly and enthusiastically, as far as Wendy could hear, like good friends would, which made her gasp in wonder. How she would love to be friend with a real fairy as well! She was almost bouncing on her spot, awaiting the few minutes Peter had asked her to wait to be gone already.

Then, however, the loud greeting quieted down and nothing could be heard for the remaining minutes.

Worry tightening her belly, Wendy climbed the scale, painting a nice smile on her face to hide her nervousness. She had wanted Tinkerbell to like her first because she was a fairy. Hearing her greeting Peter like a close friend had made Wendy’s wish grow and change. More stakes were added to that meeting, and her nerves responded accordingly.

The inside of the treehouse looked quite different from hers, more suited to host someone for a couple of nights every month or so and no more. A hammock, a chair and a table, a nightstand with a turned-on lamp on top of it, and that was all.

Standing next to it, were Peter and a lady, wearing a green dress, shorter than Wendy’s underthings, but seeming to glow softly. Not just the dress, she thought, her heart skipping a beat, but her entire being. A fairy. Tinkerbell. Wendy’s smile widened, her lips parting slightly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Her soft greeting called the other two’s attention on herself, and Peter hurried to help her off the ladder and lift her to the ground. With less manners than she would have liked, this barely got noticed and thanked by Wendy, whose eyes didn’t leave the fairy’s face.

She wore her hair curled, in as many ringlets as Wendy thought was possible to have, though the most of it was secured in a high bun. A golden handkerchief was tied around her neck, much like the one – though cleaner and more pristine – Peter was currently wearing. Her dress which, at first sight, could appear tattered and with an uneven skirt, was in reality displaying leaves at the bottom of it. She had a pouch hanging from one shoulder, bigger than the one Peter had around his neck and carrying, yes, this must be a magic wand.

Tinkerbell’s large eyes had widened, and her jaw had dropped at the sight of her as well and for a moment, they both gaped at each other, and no one said a thing. Wendy’s wonder had rendered her speechless and short of breath.

“Wendy, this is Tinkerbell, but you may call her Tink. And Tinkerbell, this is Wendy, the girl I just told you about, who was brought by the Shadow yesterday,” Peter said, each word pointedly separated from the other, as he moved to stand behind her, one hand Wendy barely felt coming to rest on her shoulder.

Before she could curtsy, or gasp, or say any kind word at all, Tinkerbell’s eyes flickered to a point behind her, probably Peter’s face, and her soft face hardened at once.

“Wend… How old is she?”

“I don’t know, how old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Wendy said, blinking in confusion at the unusual question. Perhaps it was a thing fairies did?

“You little shit,” she spat, making Wendy startle and her mouth fall open. “By Mab, Peter, look at her. You should be ashamed of yourself. No. I’ll have no part in that.”

“Tink,” Peter retorted, his voice tight but still smiling, despite the hand on her shoulder tightening. “As I told you,” he repeated, bringing back his previous words to Wendy as well. She raised her eyebrows to herself, blunt and outspoken indeed. Rude, more like. Were all fairies like that? She couldn’t help but be disappointed, and slightly hurt as well. What was so wrong with being fourteen that it called for such rudeness when they had barely met? She wasn’t a grown-up. “Wendy here has expressed interest in meeting a fairy. She’s new here,” Peter continued. “The least you could do is be friendly.”

“You want me to be friendly? Fine.” Tinkerbell turned back to them, her hard gaze staring straight in Wendy’s own confused and shocked ones. “Here’s a friendly advice, girl: leave. Go back where you come from, it can’t be worse than what you’ll find here.”

As much as the straight-up rudeness was unsettling her, Wendy found herself starting to bristle. “I-”

Thankfully, Peter jumped at her defense, preventing her from stuttering and stammering and having to defend her place here. “She’s not leaving. She came here, she agreed to come here. She’s staying.”

The certainty in Peter’s voice turned Wendy’s frown into a smile, and she sighed, relieved. “I don’t want to leave,” she confirmed. It was easier to speak, then. “Not ever.”

“I’m the one leaving, then.”

And on those words, the fairy’s wings rose and she flew away, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of her treehouse. Wendy’s mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what just happened without managing to. She had met a fairy, a real one, but things had stopped making sense almost straight after.

Biting her bottom lip, she turned around, making Peter’s hand fall from her shoulder. At least the boy didn’t look horrified, or angry, merely annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Did she leave because of me? Is she ever going to be back?” Out of everything, she hoped her presence hadn’t spelled the end of Peter and Tinkerbell’s friendship.

“She’s not gone from the island. She just flew away to pout on her own. Don’t worry, she’ll get used to the idea and you… you two will be able to have a friendly conversation, if you want to.”

Mildly comforted by Peter’s words, Wendy nodded again, before the corner of her mouth curled up in a bitter smile. “Me who was so happy to meet a fairy,” she chuckled, though her heart wasn’t in it anymore. “Are all fairies like her?”

“No. I’ll introduce you to more amicable ones, I promise.”


	12. Lick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Nibs/Slightly focused chapter, but the first half (as well as the last paragraphs) are important in regard to the past few chapters and the following ones.  
> I hope you like it!

Having to look for lost items was one of the worst things to do in Neverland, this Nibs was sure of, and would say so to anyone who’d ask. It felt even worse when it wasn’t even his to begin with, but Slightly’s. He had lost his knife today, the one Nibs had carved the handle for him, either near the potatoes or on the shore, the two places they had gone and had wrestled, hence the opportunity for the knife to get lost.

Despite it being most probably Nibs’ fault, Slightly had insisted to go to the shore, and Nibs to the potatoes, which were closer to camp by far.

Thus Nibs began his thorough search, dropping to his hand and knees near the plants and feeling around, using as much of the settling sunlight as he could to glimpse a flash, or the knife in its entirety.

Fortunately, after what must have been less than a few minutes, he noticed the knife laying on the stump of a tree, and immediately recalled Slightly taking it off when Nibs had suggested they play fight for a bit, waiting for the water to sink into the earth.

His mouth curling into a smirk, Nibs rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. Ever since Nibs had been stabbed during a fight, which must have been something like four or five days ago, coming from a pirate who had snuck up on him, Slightly had been treating him extra carefully.

The wound had hurt, and Nibs still had the scar to remind it by, on his right hip, where the knife had pierced the skin while he had been busy fighting off another pirate, and Nibs had lost so much blood that it was probable he had passed out during the run back to camp, where Peter had stayed at.

It had taken one entire day for Nibs to wake up, so disoriented that for a moment, scary and unwanted memories had crashed upon him and he had nearly punched Peter on the face.

As it turned out, while he was unconscious, Peter had managed to heal him, except for the scar, and they had captured the sneaky pirate for Nibs to get his revenge.

As it turned out, while he was unconscious, Slightly hadn’t left his side for a single second, and had done all he could to help Peter heal him, and then to make sure he would wake up, because apparently that hadn’t been a given.

Nibs didn’t remember many things, but he remembered Peter telling him such, the next morning, and the warmth rushing in his chest, that came back every time he thought back on it.

However, as it turned out, Slightly had also decided that this was all somehow his fault, as he had promised to watch over Nibs’ back during fights and hadn’t noticed that pirate sneaking on him, even though Nibs hadn’t noticed him either.

Thus, Slightly had reluctantly agreed to gently play fight this morning, and had taken off his knife and even checked his nails and had let Nibs win every time. It had been a tiny less fun, but he knew Slightly’s heart was in the right place, even a bit too cautious for his taste.

Determined to find his friend and tease him mercilessly for his forgetfulness and overprotectiveness, Nibs started to walk toward the shore, instead of going back to camp. Night hadn’t fallen completely yet and, despite some having already gone to sleep, most of the other Boys were still awake when Slightly and he had left camp.

He took the longer way to there, but his feet stopped moving when he heard a loud exclamation, coming from not far from him.

Peter and Tinkerbell were facing each other, both of them looking quite angered, barking unintelligible words back and forth. Nibs felt a pang of worry in his chest, for he didn’t think he had ever seen Peter and Tink fight, and followed his gut. He tiptoed nearer.

“-asking you,” Peter said. “But I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I’m not. I think you should forget about the whole idea, and about that boy as well. What do you need his heart for? You have everything you need here.”

“You know I don’t. You know I miss them still, that I want her to stay with me.”

Her? Nibs’ eyes widened in realization. Her must be this Wendy lady, who came yesterday afternoon from a place Slightly said was like America. Nibs didn’t have the opportunity of talking to her much, except during lunch today, precisely after she and Peter had come back from visiting Tink, but he thought she seemed swell and nice. Curly, Tootles, the Twins and Fox had told him she had agreed to be their mother, and from what Nibs had understood of the concept, it meant they needed to look after her, now.

He thought he remembered having to look after another mother of his, one from before, from when he hadn’t known Peter or Slightly or Neverland, but he wasn’t entirely sure about it.

Why was Peter talking about Wendy staying? Was she leaving already?

Tinkerbell sighed loudly, but didn’t stop shaking her head. “There is no way this could work. You’ve lost your mind, Peter.”

“I haven’t!” Peter took a step forward. “She recognized the boy. She said he looks like her brother.”

“That’s…” But apparently, this was all Tink could find to say.

Nibs didn’t understand one bit what they were talking about, and was about to shrug and walk away, before the next words turned all blood in his veins ice cold.

“Anyway, it shouldn’t even matter,” Tink resumed, picking up her angry tone. “Didn’t you hear how old she is? She’s fourteen, Peter, it’s too young.”

“You’re right about this. I didn’t think to ask about her age. But it doesn’t matter either. I control the time, here. I’ll find a way to get her older.”

Get Wendy older? That was horrifying. Poor, poor Wendy. Nibs shuddered just at the thought of what was about to befall on her, without her knowing, if he judged by her absence in the conversation.

Silently, he padded away, making sure neither Peter or Tink overheard him running. He only stopped when he hit Slightly’s back, who had been making his way toward him, empty-handed.

“Nibs, here you are! I haven’t found it, but-” Slightly interrupted himself, and furrowed his brows when he took a long and hard look at Nibs’ face. “What’s happening? Are you hurt? You’re all pale.”

He nodded. Yes, he felt pale was an appropriate reaction to the situation. “It’s awful.”

“What is?”

No, Nibs couldn’t not warn her. If anyone had overheard people talking about getting him older, he would want to know, even if it’d hurt and confuse him – mostly the latter, because why would anyone ever want to get older?

“Do you know where Wendy’s sleeping?”

“I- yes, I think so but-”

“Great, let’s go there, quick.” Tugging at Slightly’s arm, Nibs began to walk to the general direction of the camp. They had no time to lose, but he thought Slightly would find the way easier if they started from the camp.

“Wait, wait. Why do you want to go see Wendy?”

“I need to tell her something. It’s very important.”

“It’s night, Nibs. She’s probably sleeping, already.” Indeed, during Nibs’ encounter with Peter and his run, night had completely fallen on the island. “You’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“It-” But he cut himself off. Peter had said he’d have to find a way to get her older, first, which meant that whatever it was, it had no chance to happen during the night. “You’re right. I’ll need to tell her first thing in the morning, though.” Nibs waved one finger at his friend. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“I will.”

Thus they walked together to the camp, Nibs giving his knife back to Slightly and teasing and rolling his eyes at him, Nibs taking a last turn to relieve Felix of his first watch. Slightly joined him soon after, as was usual for them. Watches could turn out boring, especially when one was on their own, at night, and that the pirates had just withstand a tough fight and were still tending to their wounded or killed.

All of these were reunited for this one, and so Nibs and Slightly had taken two following watches, and had decided to spend them together.

The first one passed quickly enough, between short and hushed discussions and Peter flying back in the middle of it, not having taken one move toward where Slightly had pointed Wendy’s treehouse was, to sit on his tree and lose himself in his thoughts.

The second one, however, Nibs struggled to remain awake through it. Peter had joined them, as he was sometimes wont to do and he and Slightly would talk about battle plans or other boring things, or the three of them would summon fruits and candies – and something called pear which Nibs had never seen or tasted before but which juice was his favorite – and talk about way more interesting things, like the newest Lost Boy, or the activities they would do on the next day, or a prank they would make on someone.

This time, though, his head had begun to drop off and on even before the second hour had started, and it had only gotten worse the more the minutes passed. So much so that Nibs had startled awake several times already, his head resting on Slightly’s shoulder and his mind hazy from sleep.

“You can go, if you want,” Slightly ended up offering, jerking his head back to the others who were all peacefully and deeply sleeping. The sight indeed looked appealing, but Nibs wasn’t a bad friend, and so he shook his head and blinked hard, trying to wash the sleep off his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll join you soon.”

“Go ahead, Nibs,” Peter added, “you look like you could fall asleep while standing up.”

“No, no. ‘M not sleepy.” But even his words had turned drowsy, and so Nibs had to relent and admit he did was half-asleep already, standing up and padding to the camp, only grumbling a little.

Everyone else slept soundly, some curled around other, like the Twins, or other on their own with the large space they needed, like Felix, who tended to kick and elbow anyone who’d come closer than two long spears of him.

Nibs’ usual spot was free, though, and he laid down, bringing more moss under his head, and sighing contently as his eyes dropped. Those past days, it had been near impossible for him to fall asleep without at least holding Slightly’s hand, but Nibs must have been truly tired because the last sensation crossing his mind was the feeling of someone laying down behind him, and arms wrapping around his middle.

Had he been the tiniest more vigilant, he would have snapped to attention immediately, as Slightly never hugged him out of his own volition first, while falling asleep. But Nibs was already more than half so, and trusting time had just flown way faster than anticipated, and so only burrowed himself deeper in the embrace.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before a zing shot through his body, jerking his eyes open and making his muscles stiffened as his brain lost every trace of muddle and snapped to attention.

And, most precisely, to the something happening in the crook of his neck.

His mouth twisted in a grimace, his nose scrunched as he struggled to make sense of what. Why. Ew. “Slightly?” he called out softly, no louder than a whisper truly, so that his friend wouldn’t feel too embarrassed or mocked by the others if someone were to be awake too. But. Still. Ew.

The soft call of his name made Slightly stop, thankfully, and Nibs spared a thought that maybe he was dreaming or something, and so he threw a glance behind his shoulder only for his next breath to catch in his throat.

Wide eyes were already looking back at him, but not Slightly’s.

Nibs’ stomach flung in his belly as he wrestled himself out of Tootles’ hold, his hand coming instinctively to press at the side of his throat. The skin there was still damp, and the most of the spit moved to his palm.

His grimace accentuated as he darted a look at it, despite not being able to see anything. Nibs’ other side was empty, so Slightly mustn’t even have finished his watch.

“What did you do?” Nibs asked, though not in any expectation of an answer. If it was a prank, then he failed to see the fun in it.

“I’m sorry.” Tootles had started to fidget, and Nibs could swear his cheeks had turned a darker color. “You’re just dreaming.”

Why would Nibs ever dream of such a thing? He never recalled his dreams, but something told him he never dreamt about being spat on, or having his throat licked like… like… Who even did that?

“Go back to sleep.”

That was impossible. With a last grimace and a need growing more and more with each second to get away and get _clean_ , Nibs scrambled to his feet and started running, not even paying attention to Slightly and Peter’s surprised look when he dashed past them.

He kept running and, to his puzzlement, his eyes started to burn with tears. He felt betrayed, confused, his heart breaking a little at Tootles’ strange prank. The patch of skin that he had spat on? licked? was burning, and Nibs itched to scratch it off.

“Ew,” he sobbed, as he finally reached a river and plopped down next to it, his hands scooping fresh water that he struggled to hold. It took a few times for him to manage to bring it to his throat, with how much his hands were suddenly shaking and how blurry his vision was.

Nibs rubbed and rubbed, scooped and rubbed again, wincing at the icy sensation flowing down and the urge to keep on scratching until there was no burning and queasy feeling in his belly. Then shaking his hands to get rid of the lasting droplets and remnants of spit, shuddering.

He wasn’t aware of what happened around him until two hands wrapped around his wrists, stopping their jerky movements, and Slightly softly bumped their heads together.

“Nibs, what’s going on?” he asked, his breathing still ragged, as if he had ran after him and just caught up on him.

The question, making Nibs’ skin remember the feeling he was trying to forget, brought another shudder, and he wiped his nose on his arm, leaving a darker patch on his cloak and exposing the spot to Slightly’s watchful eyes.

The moment Slightly noticed it, his mouth pursed. “Did you get bitten?”

Once, Felix had the idea of summoning some beast from his homeland as a revenge against one of Fox’s prank. A single one, and it had been funny at first, Fox waking up with that huge bite on his arm and whining about it all day long, as it turned redder and redder the more he scratched at it. The following night, however, the beast had returned and bitten them all.

It had been a pain, and taken several days, for them to hunt and then finally kill it. Its bites must have indeed looked like the spot on Nibs’ throat at the moment, he gathered, hence Slightly’s reasoning, but it wasn’t.

Squirming, his hands still held away from both the running water and his skin, looking more clean than Nibs ever remembered them being from all the rubbing, he chose to tell Slightly. His friend, who maybe knew about Tootles’ prank. Or who maybe could tell him what was in Tootles’ mind.

“I was sleeping,” he said, the words mumbled slightly and his eyes finding some difficulty meeting his friend’s. It was a strange sensation, almost shameful, though Nibs had no idea what he had to be ashamed of. “And then I felt something wet here,” he pointed at his throat, “like he licked it.” Yuck, yuck, yuck. “And it’s true, at first I thought it was you, and it was weird, so I turned around and it wasn’t you. It was Tootles.” He couldn’t help but not stifle another shudder at the memory, his hands finally coming free to repeat their process again, as if just talking about it had made it happen a second time, even though it was Slightly sitting next to him, and no one else.

“Tootles?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice higher suddenly, his Adam apple bobbing under his palm. “I don’t know why he did that. It’s a prank, right?” All things considered, he thought he’d rather Slightly admit it was one – not funny at all, but one. He’d punch him in the shoulder, and Tootles too, and then forget about it.

He’d forget about it when he’d forget about the precise sensation of Tootles’ licking at his skin which, though scratching and scrubbing, didn’t ease it off.

But Slightly looked every bit as confused as Nibs was, and not amused at all as he shook his head slowly, his brows frowned and his mouth pulled down.

Nibs’ stomach turned heavy, as if he had swallowed stones, and he watched without moving as Slightly bent over and brought water to the spot in need of cleaning, prying Nibs’ claws away from it. He had been so diligent in his task that the water, when it touched the overheated skin, felt different. Slightly patted cautiously, then washed his own hand thoroughly before repeating the motion and, after two of such trips, Nibs’ stiff shoulders had relaxed.

Slightly’s hand felt less familiar in a way that allowed for him to focus on the new sensation brushing against raw skin, and expected and allowed in a way that served to take his mind even more away from Tootles’ weird antics. More than different, Nibs thought, it felt better. Soothing. Nice.

It explained why, when he felt Slightly withdrew that hand, his first reflex was to prevent him, and keep it here. “Don’t,” he thought he heard himself murmur, and sighed with relief when Slightly complied. They stayed unmoving for he didn’t know how long, except for Slightly’s thumb sometimes brushing along his jawbone, his palm sending little rushes of warmth to his chest. Not a burning one, but similar to resting near a fire. Comfortable. Homelike.

Little by little, the stones in his stomach, Tootles, the queasy shudders, all of that disappeared, and Nibs smiled.

“What are you thinking about?” Slightly’s low voice came to break the silence.

A good question. Nibs opened his mouth to answer, before he realized he had no word to describe it properly. “You’re a great friend,” was what he settled for, though it didn’t sound entirely right, “brother,” he corrected, but still kept on his frown. “Thanks.”

Slightly smiled, looking satisfied by the answer in a way Nibs wasn’t, but he shrugged his own hesitation off, bumping their shoulders together and chuckling weirdly.

Why did it all feel so weird, suddenly?

Not weird like Tootles licking his skin had been, but exhilarating weird. Like Nibs was about to run into an attack while suddenly not knowing how to walk anymore.

“You’re welcome,” Slightly answered, pulling his hand away finally, making something squeeze in Nibs’ chest.

They both agreed to get back at Tootles’ somehow for what he did, Slightly’s expression darkening for a moment as he trailed off and thought hard about an idea, before they walked back to camp, racing for the last meters, past Wiley’s watch. Slightly mimed stepping on a sleeping Tootles’ hand and fingers, making the both of them exchange a look and giggle silently.

“Maybe we should cut his tongue off,” Slightly said, as they both shuffled closer, facing each other, laid on their usual spot.

The proposition had Nibs raising his brows. “It’s bloody,” he reminded him. For the most part, Slightly turned his nose away from anything too bloody, hence him preferring fighting perched in a tree ever since Nibs showed him the ropes on how climb them and shooting at enemies with Dreamshade coated arrows.

The only exception had been this pirate who had stabbed him, not long ago. When Nibs had limped to where he had been kept prisoner, he had seen the bloodied, ugly state of his face. They had sought revenge for him, Felix had told him, all of them. But Slightly most, he had noted. Nibs had been free to continue as he saw fit, punch and kick and cut to his heart’s content though, to be fair, his heart hadn’t been in it in the least.

The ugly sight of that slowly bruising face, scrunched as if the old pirate had been crying, had erased every trace of scared anger Nibs had been feeling toward the man, when he had been too weak to walk yet. And so he had killed him, stabbing him straight in the heart, quickly and wordlessly.

When he had turned around, he had seen Slightly leaning against a tree, not far from them but far enough to not intervene, his gaze already on him. They had hugged, then, hard enough to make their heads light, and Slightly hadn’t made any remark on the bloody corpse, or his own bruised knuckles from having punched it first, the marks not healed and remaining unnoticed until Nibs had pointed at them, wondering why Peter hadn’t healed them as well.

“It’d be long deserved.”

Half falling asleep, Nibs couldn’t help but slowly nod in agreement, although his tired mind couldn’t recall what Tootles had ever done to deserve this, despite what had just happened not so long ago.

But what had just happened seemed such a long time ago, when they woke up with the first rays of sun and the sounds of shuffling around next to them, the next morning, feeling rested and ready to start another day.

Soon enough, breakfast had appeared all around them, and they all blindly grabbed at the closest food, munching on it ravenously on Nibs’ part.

He whined when Slightly tugged him away from it. “Here,” his friend said, making the two of them stop before Curly, Wendy and the Twins and calling their attention. “I needed to remind you that you wanted to tell her something,” he said in Nibs’ ear.

Nibs’ and Wendy’s eyes both widened as a delighted smile drew itself on her face. “You did? What is it?”

He did, yes. He remembered that, something very important, and Nibs nodded urgently, gesturing at her to follow him. Something important and secret.

“Yes, it’s… it’s…” Feeling his enthusiasm and urgency douse like rain under fire, Nibs frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down the more his forehead creased as he tried to remember what he had wanted so much to tell her. After a couple of minutes, once Wendy’s smile had turned slightly amused, he had to confess the truth. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s alright,” she said immediately, chuckling at his pout. “Don’t worry about it. It happens to everybody.”

“It does?”

“Of course. It happens to me, too.” That was indeed less worrisome. Nibs knew Neverland sometimes helped people forget things they, but he felt more often than not that he was the only. Slightly remembered everything, and so did Peter. A part of him was glad Wendy forget things sometimes, too. “If it’s forgotten,” she continued, sounding certain of herself, “then it means it wasn’t very important.”

“You’re probably right, yes.”


	13. Jumping, Not Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter, back in Wendy's POV! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Just a brief announcement: starting at next chapter, the "posting day" for this fic will switch to Wednesday.

Wendy let out a contented little murmur as she stretched her arms above her head.

It seemed to her that she had spent her night up on a cloud, with how well-rested she was. She could hear birds chirping from outside, and she walked slowly to a window, to try and see one of the wonderfully colored birds. They enjoyed flying past her little house in the mornings, and she gasped when she spotted the wing of an orange and green one.

As every morning, before she got down and ate her breakfast at camp with the Boys, she sat at her vanity and tried to tame her wild curls with the wooden comb Curly had carved for her, after he had seen the one she had pictured and conjured herself. Satisfied with the result – none of the Boys cared much for her appearance, anyway – she skipped to the camp, where Curly was already up and waiting for her with a wide smile, putting his arms around her waist.

Wendy stroked his hair, waiting for him to let her go while enjoying the hug. Some mornings, Curly would let go rather quickly and look around him, checking no one had seen him, but other times, he would hug her tightly and for a while. Those mornings, he had taken on calling Wendy ‘Mother’ and wasn’t keen on being parted from her for the day, and she went along with it. She remembered the way his large eyes had widened, as he had looked up at her and asked if she could be his mother, and Wendy had simply been unable to refuse him.

Playing Curly’s mother was quite fun, to be true, and seemed to please the youngest Boy greatly.

The others enjoyed the play as well, though in a lesser extent, as they were all older. Wendy herself wasn’t sure if Tootles wasn’t actually older than her.

Tootles seemed to prefer her company when sometimes the other Boys turned too rough for him, while Curly didn’t seem to mind at all the rougher games she sometimes caught glimpses of. Wendy, if she had a say, and she did as their Mother, encouraged Tootles to follow them, as he was older and more robust than Curly, who wasn’t taller than Peter’s elbow, instead of the way it was right now. But they seemed to be considerate of Curly’s younger age, and he always came back beaming and full of energy and unharmed, after that first time. That first time Wendy still recalled with a strange feeling, when Curly had come back to her, just as beaming and jumping around, but with a gash across cheek. She had scolded him, and then had forced Tootles to go with him the following time, with the express order to watch over him. Thankfully, it had remained a single occasion.

They ate their breakfast together, sitting cross-legged on the young grass and talking about what games they would play for the day, Wendy sometimes stealing shy glances to the small group talking under the shadow of the Great Oak. Once they were done, Rufio called everyone for an archery contest, and so Wendy discarded her idea of going flower picking and stayed, cheering for each Boy once it was his turn to shoot.

The last one was Peter, and Wendy felt her cheeks grow hot when he stepped into place, and the congratulations cries for Slightly’s successful shot stopped. “He’s the best,” Tootles told her, from where she was sitting on a tree stump, a little aside. Wendy nodded. She was well-aware of that!

She had happened on him training, once or twice or a couple of times, when she had been wandering around camp to try and navigate in the forest without having to ask for Curly or Tootles, the latter who had taken upon himself to never leave her alone, as atonement for wounding her, when she arrived in Neverland. Oh, it had been by utter chance, nothing she had planned at all. To say the truth, she had even been quite scared, at first, hearing that thumping, regular sound, even though she knew nothing terrible could happen to her here. But she had come to her senses quickly when she had seen it was only Peter.

Now, she hadn’t shown herself, goodness no, but she hadn’t left him to his own devices at once either. She had laid down the bouquet she had gathered, and had watched him as he shot at this and then that tree, hidden behind a bush.

Feeling quite improper of thinking of such things – she could still see the concentrated face he had been sporting, not the far from the one he was wearing now, or the way his arms moved when he drew the great bow – Wendy cleared her throat softly and made a show of picking a dust off her dress, not looking at all at the boy who was aiming at the target and paying her no attention.

Since that very first day she had spent here, and everything that had happened, Peter had made himself scarce in her day-to-day life. Wendy didn’t know for sure what had happened, though she had her own idea on the question, idea only confirmed the longer she remained on Neverland, along conversations with the other Lost Boys.

Nibs, in particular, never balked from answering everyone she had on her mind. This was how Wendy had begun to grasp the true bond linking Peter and Tinkerbell together.

She had met the fairy once, and it had been utterly disastrous. Wendy had no idea what on earth she had done to warrant the fairy’s blatant dislike, but she severely regretted ever doing so. It was more than clear Peter had been more than happy to be her friend before, telling her about that boy they were looking for, though Wendy didn’t know for why, building her a treehouse with every possible accommodation she could wish for, and basically being a courteous and kind company in every way she could imagine, and even some she couldn’t.

Then, he had introduced her to his friend, his most oldest friend who was a fairy sometimes visiting them in Neverland, and everything had gone downhill from there.

Not blatantly or rudely so, Wendy immediately amended. But noticeable, nonetheless. Peter had built a distance, probably respecting Tinkerbell’s poor and immediate opinion of her, irremediably twisting and shifting the one he used to have. For now.

Wendy had tried to find the fairy, and mend the disastrous first impression but, after wandering around the island for afternoons on end, hoping to catch her before the Boys knew she had come to visit, she finally gave up. Tinkerbell wasn’t here, busy with a godmother’s apprenticeship under the strict rule of a teacher, and his visits were more scarce than numerous.

Thus, she found herself with no solution to her problem, and forced to admire Peter from afar.

It was true that she could just come up to him and talk, as Nibs had suggested and Curly, the Twins and Fox had approved when she had subtly tested the waters, but something in Wendy’s mind simply repelled to the idea. To observe as she did was already quite brazen of her. Girls didn’t just come up to boys.

So, she filled her days with looking out for her children, tell them stories and take care of them as much as she liked, while promising herself that, when Peter would look her way again, she would smile welcomingly and amiably at him, and he would come to her.

Every time she imagined the scene, or recalled that very first day, how thoughtful and pleasant he had been to her, it made her heart flutter in her chest and funny things move in her belly. She liked it, quite a lot, when they had been just the two of them.

“Mother, Mother,” Curly jumped in front of her, his small bow jerking in his hand in time with his bouncing. “I nearly won, did you see, did you see?” Wendy snapped out of her thoughts and laughed with him. “I beat Tootles, and the second Twin, and Nibs, and nearly Fox!” he announced proudly, his little chest puffing out and his hands on his hips.

Wendy congratulated him. “For your reward, I shall give you… a victory kiss,” she said, giggling when his nose wrinkled. She caught him before he could run away to safety and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

“Bwah! There’s no such things as victory kiss, mother!”

“Of course, there is. Don’t you know the story of Robin Hood and Fair Marian?”

Curly’s eyes widened at the mention of the word, and suddenly all disgust about being kissed was forgotten. “A story? Can you tell it?”

Before she knew it, Wendy found herself recounting the tale of the brave Robin Hood and his lady, of his companions and the evil usurper, of the fights against the greedy sheriff and the big archery competition to six very focused Boys.

“Let’s go to the sea!” Nibs suggested, once the “and they lived happily ever after” had been pronounced. The other Boys cheered and Peter found the idea excellent, and so they all ran to the shore.

Wendy’s heart was pounding in rhythm with her steps. She hadn’t seen the sea since she had arrived – that had been the only rule, and to be perfectly honest, its existence had been relegated to the background, compared to the jungle, the rivers, the birds, the Boys, the magic and Peter – but now she found herself impatient to see it once again. This would surely be so much fun!

She let out a delighted shriek as she ran into the waves, kicking the water to Curly, Wiley or Fox and dodging their own splashes. Someone shouted “Everyone on Felix” and she joined the group, splashing at the tall, quiet Boy who was giving as good as he got, then, it was “Everyone on Wiley” and everybody switched target. The game carried on for Nibs, Tootles, Peter and both Twins, until the first one swallowed water inadvertently, when Rufio threw him into the sea.

Wendy’s laughter died down when Peter suggested to all climb to the nearest cliff and take turns diving. She hadn’t gone any farther than knee-deep into the sea, for she had never learnt how to swim, and the water near the cliff was deeper, darker, scarier. None of the Boys noticed her hesitation, however, and they all started to swim to it, transforming the shift into a race as they were prone to do.

As for Wendy, she walked backwards, the excuse of preferring to reach the cliff by the beach than climbing from the sea on the tip of her lips, should anyone ask. But no one did, and so she walked as slowly as possible to it, enjoying the feeling of warm sand against the sole of her feet.

When she reached the top, her feet unsure, Slightly, Nibs, Peter and Felix had already jumped once, and the Twins were readying themselves, walking backwards to the other end of the clifftop, so they could run and jump, screaming as they did so. To Wendy, it sounded more like a terrified scream than a thrilled one, but none of them seemed the tiniest bit frightened as she was.

Squaring her shoulders, Wendy walked to the edge and took a look down. Goodness this was high. Nibs was just reaching the top. “Do you want me to push you?” he asked her, flipping off a wet strand of hair from his eyes, “it helps for the first one.”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? It’s load of fun, you’d like it.”

“I’m quite content watching.”

He shrugged and Slightly reached the top, not far from them, and they decided to see who could jump the farthest – it was Nibs – and Wendy made herself scarce, having fun watching them from afar. The bottom of her dress had nearly dried completely when she felt someone sit down next to her, making her startle.

Her heart began to pound loudly when she saw that it was Peter. He had lost his shoes, his dagger and his jacket, and the tip of his hair was already starting to dry with the wind and the beating sun, while the rest of him was soaking wet. “What are you doing?” He tilted his head, looking at her.

This was it. Her opportunity, the one she had waited for impatiently, of him coming to talk to her. Perhaps Tinkerbell’s animosity had been forgotten, or forgiven, or simply disregarded, she didn’t know. It didn’t seem to hold much importance, now that she felt his attention entirely on herself, the way hers had been ever since she arrived here – and before, as well, she supposed, though it had been more turned to the Shadow than himself as a such.

Or perhaps he simply wanted to make her feel included, as he did for every one of the Lost Boys, and had noticed her staying aside of the group. She fidgeted as subtly as possible on her spot. She didn’t want him to think her a coward. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that there were few things he despised more than cowards, and that Neverland held no place for them. “Enjoying the sun,” she said. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up.

“Why don’t you jump? You scared?”

“Well,” she hurried to think of an acceptable excuse, her shoulders relaxing and her mouth curving in a smile when she found one, “you said I shouldn’t be by the sea.”

He laughed before she could explain further, drawing Tootles’ gaze on them for a second. Wendy saw the other Boy quickly advert his eyes and toe at something, looking embarrassed. “By yourself, yes, but you’re not by yourself right now. I’m here, and nothing’s going to happen to you. Nothing bad anyway, just fun. You, sitting, all alone, can’t possibly be fun.”

She bit down her smile. “I find it is,” she said, as Wiley did a backflip while in mid-air. She clapped with Nibs and the Twins, cheering him until she heard him hit the water. “Besides, I’m already behaving most improperly,” she added, as if an afterthought, “more than I’m supposed to. What would Mother say if she could see me?”

“Would she be shocked?”

“She would.”

“Alarmed?”

“Most certainly. That is how Mothers are.”

There was a small pause before Peter resumed his question. “Terrorized?” Wendy nodded, absentmindedly.

She tried to picture her mother’s reaction, but she found that she couldn’t. Strange as it seemed, she had no idea what it would be for sure. What did her mouth look like, when disappointed? Or her eyes? How did her frown precisely looked like? What about Father? Her friends at school? John would be appalled, her so serious little brother, yet envious, she was sure. Bae would be worried about her, and disappointed as well, most probably, just as he had been when she had left, like a mother. Only Michael, she believed, her frown soothing slightly, would relish in the story.

“Yet nothing’s awful is happening, right?”

Wendy turned to look at Peter. He was right, she was simply enjoying herself, watching over her friends, but it was no different how she had watched over her brothers, and talking with the most special boy she had ever met. “No,” she laughed, “since you are here, nothing bad can happen to me.” She bit on the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling as his face broke into a smile. She attempted to keep her own serious, but it was hard to do so. “Isn’t that what you promised?”

“Exactly,” he said. “So, come with me.” He stood and held out a hand to her.

Wendy’s smile died down slightly as she took it, letting herself be pulled up and to the edge. They looked down, where three boys were playing a bit farther on the left, still holding each other’s hand. Swallowing with some difficulty, Wendy willed herself for the inevitable disappointment – please, she asked the sky, let it only be disappointment – and told him the truth. “I have never learnt how to swim.”

“And you believed I would let you to drown?” Peter scoffed at the ridiculous notion, and she found herself feeling relieved. Of course he wouldn’t.

“I don’t anymore,” she admitted, softly, looking down on their entwined hands.

“So I passed the test?”

There hadn’t been any test. “You did,” she said, lifting her chin and they laughed.

“Come then,” he said, walking a few steps backward. “We’ll do it together.” She walked next to him, her fear forgotten, replaced by trust. “Let go of my hand when we hit water, alright?”

“Alright,” she whispered to the wind and they ran to the edge. Wendy let out a half shriek, half laugh as she felt herself fall and fall and fall, the sensation familiar to her, but the hand in hers removing any fright her brain might have conjured.

She let go of his hand as she hit the water, and forced her eyes to open to the wonders that lived below its surface. She would have gasped if she could, once the thousands of little bubbles dissipated and she glimpsed all the surrounding blue. It was magnificent, and she was floating in it, weightless, and it was as if she was flying.

Before she realized time had passed, she felt arms wrap under her knees and around her back and suddenly, she was pulled up and up and up until she saw the sun back. She loosely wrapped her own arms around Peter’s neck as she gasped in fresh air and they flew for a while before he laid her down on the shore. She then jumped twice more with Peter, and once with Curly and another with Fox, with Peter pulling her out of the water each time, never complaining once nor looking bothered.

The Twins taught her how to use her legs to reach the surface, but Peter always ended up pulling her to the shore with a smile.

Wendy truly didn’t mind it, and that day became the best she had ever lived through, she decided.

Later, after spending hours and hours thinking back on that morning, as she was walking back to camp after Curly showed her a peculiar tree that would serve for his next arrows – he had taken on carving his arrows himself, the way Slightly did – she happened on a patch of daisies, and a wonderful idea crossed her mind. Giggling to herself, she picked one and sat in the grass, closed her eyes and thought of he who she wanted to think about.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Curly padded to where she was sitting, just as she had plucked off the first petal. He loves me a bit. “Another crown?”

“It’s a game,” she admitted, feeling her face warm under the sun. She explained the rules and, just as she had thought, Curly disinterested himself swiftly and sat down, holding not a daisy, but a wooden stick and a knife.

Wendy kept on the plucking. A lot, passionately, madly, not at all and round and round. The first flower ended with a bit, but Wendy didn’t let it deter her. Peter and Wendy, wasn’t that sounding perfect? She wouldn’t settle for anything less than passionately, though she supposed a lot would be acceptable for now. Madly sounded a bit frightening, if she were honest, but she certainly wouldn’t turn away from it either. The second one ended with a bit, too. When the third one also provided the same result, Wendy smiled sadly and forgot the daisies for wilder flowers, that she wove into a crown.

“You’re like a princess,” Curly said, his eyes wide, when she put it on her head. She smiled and thanked him, her mood lifted by his assurance.

Daisies didn’t truly tell the truth, anyway.

They headed back to camp, Wendy twirling sometimes for good measure, when the sun started to set, and Wendy couldn’t hold back a gasp when she saw the table put already.

It was a massive wooden furniture, with benches on either side and a mountain of various fruits, breads and meat in the middle. Wendy saw that Tootles, Wiley, Rufio and Felix were already seated, and that the former had started stealing some bits here and there. Wendy took plums, a piece of bread and what Nibs had told her was called a watermelon, a huge green fruit with red flesh who tasted very refreshing, and pictured apricot juice – her new favorite – in her glass.

She kept stealing shy glances to the head of the table, where Peter was sitting, talking to Rufio who was laughing. Oh, how she would like to hear what they were talking about, to sit near them, too.

But she had been the last one to arrive, and Rufio the very first, Nibs had told her, one day, and so she spent every shared meal seating next to Curly, and in front of Felix, exchanging a few words with Wiley, who was sitting next to Felix, or listening to Nibs, when she could hear him. But today, Nibs seemed tired and was talking only to Slightly, words Wendy couldn’t discern, Felix seemed lost in his thoughts, and Wiley was boasting about the fight he had, a while back, against an Indian warrior, a story he had already told them five times.

When every last bit of food had been eaten and beverages had been drunk, a giant fire appeared near the table, making Wendy smile with awe as cheers erupted all around her. She gawped at the rising flames who were almost blinding in the otherwise dark night.

“Come, come,” Curly shouted at her ear, jumping on his spot, “let’s dance!” He grabbed her sleeve and dragged her around the fire, jumping and flaying his arms more than dancing. They were soon joined by every Boy, and Wendy had to be careful not to stumble upon any of them, for they were all moving at a rhythm she couldn’t figure out, sometimes lively, sometimes very energic, and sometimes so fast she felt her head spin.

Breathless, she stepped out of the circle and watched Curly spin and jump and laugh, then Wiley, Tootles, Felix, the first Twin, Fox, the second Twin, Peter, Rufio, Nibs, Slightly and then Curly again. She frowned, her eyes snapping back to Peter, who was playing pipes – except she couldn’t hear anything. Wendy gasped in fear that she had turned deaf, but quelled as she could still perfectly hear the sound of her voice, the steps and laughter of the Boys. It was only the pipes.

Frowning, she walked to Peter but no, even standing closer, she still couldn’t hear anything. He stepped back from the circle and stopped playing that silent music when he noticed her.

“Is something wrong?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you really play?” Perhaps it was a trick, and they were simply pulling a joke at her, the way they did when she arrived. Wiley and Rufio had made her believe that birds and animals could talk here, and had laughed themselves silly when she had asked to a nearby bird how his day had been. It had been fun, because it had been her first day, but she had been on Neverland for longer now, and did not really enjoy being thought for an idiot. Especially if it involved Peter.

Peter’s sincerely surprised sounding “Can’t you hear?”, however, made her rethink her doubt. She shook her head as he blew in the pipes once again, to no avail to her.

“Is that wrong?” she asked when she saw him frown as well. Her hands were turning clammy at the thought that maybe something was wrong with her.

“It’s… unexpected,” he shrugged. Wendy sighed in relief. “And unfortunate.”

“Truly?” she asked, her heart in her throat. What did he mean by that? He did was looking at her funny, and the daisies had told her he only loved her a bit withal.

“Well, yeah,” he said, but he was huffing, and Wendy didn’t know what to think. Perhaps she could pretend she suddenly heard the melody? She decided she would, after glancing at the Boys who were still dancing. “That was supposed to be for you, mainly. But since you can’t hear it.” He paused, and Wendy await his conclusion with a mix of impatience and dread. “Let’s gain some uplifting.”

Wendy found herself breathless once again, though not for the same reason as before, when he carried her to a branch. She discreetly wiped her hands on her lap as he sat next to her, his back to the trunk while she had her legs swinging in the air. She briefly thought about how she found herself so high up, yet fearless of falling down, because she knew Peter would catch her.

Beneath her feet, the fire was still burning, but the Boys had stopped dancing. Some had laid down, other had gathered in small groups and were probably talking quietly between themselves. It would be the time where Wendy usually walked to her treehouse, as Curly and Tootles would be the firsts to fall asleep, but instead tonight, she was with him.

She hoped the flush in her cheeks could still be attributed to the dancing.

“How does one fly, Peter?” she asked softly when he did nothing but watch her while still frowning, as if there was a problem he needed to solve.

“Still want to learn how to? Were you a bird in another life?” She laughed, delighted with the possibility of it existing, that perhaps in some other worlds, magical worlds, people could transform into animals. So many possibilities that she had never even dreamt of. “It’s a bit like with everything in Neverland, you have to believe you can. But,” he added, raising an arm to prevent her from jumping off the branch, already fully believing, “you also need fairy dust. Otherwise, you’d just crash, for you’re not a bird anymore.”

“Fairy dust?” she repeated in a breath, feeling the corner of her mouth start to stretch into a smile as her own voice lifted in wonderment. “This is so wonderful! Where I come from, everyone is persuaded that fairies don’t-”

But she couldn’t finish her complain, for he had scrambled to press a hand against her mouth. “Don’t say anything like that. Every time someone says so, a fairy loses her light.”

“What does that mean?” Wendy asked, whispering as if a fairy could hear her and lose her light as she spoke, while she tried to remember if she had ever said such words.

“It means that they die. It’s alright, though, no need to be upset, you didn’t say-”

“But my brother did!” Wendy covered her mouth. “He said that magic was bad, and… and all kind of horrible things.” She didn’t remember precisely what Baelfire had said, but she remembered what she had felt. “He almost made Michael cry, once.”

“Michael?”

“He’s my brother too, the youngest.” Wendy bit her lip, feeling her throat close up, somehow.

“It’s alright to miss him,” Peter said. “Do you miss him?”

“I do,” she whispered, realizing how true the words were the second she spoke them. She told him of her brothers, of John and Michael, “who is the sweetest and-”

“-and the favorite.”

“I don’t have favorites,” Wendy shook her head emphatically. That was true, Michael and she were simply a bit closer than she and John since Bae’s arrival, mostly because John had decreed that girls were silly and that he wanted nothing to do with them, and because they were so alike, everyone thought so.

“Of course not, that would be shocking.”

“It definitely would.” Wendy laughed with him, until the main subject came back on her mind. “Peter, what are the pipes for?”

She heard Peter sigh. “To make you forget.”

Wendy frowned. “Forget? Forget what?”

“Your sadness. Homesickness. You said you missed your brother, and you talked about your-”

“I did. But Peter, this is why I can’t hear it,” Wendy said, her eyes widening. A laugh escaped her as she thought back on what he just told her. “I’m not sad at all!”

“You’re not?” Peter turned to look fully at her, his head cocked to one side and his eyebrows raised. Wendy shook her head, hoping he could see her in the dark. Why would she? She darted a look under her lashes at him, a mix of joy and giddiness that this was his reaction. “Not lonely? Not lost? Not unloved?”

“Absolutely not.” Peter stared at her, with something in his eyes that she couldn’t recognize, so Wendy reiterated her assurance. “I have no reason to be. Neverland is,” she paused, trying to find the perfect words, “lovely, wonderful and… and bedazzling.”

“It is, yes.”

Wendy took a deep breath, “And so much more than anything I expect- Wait,” she interrupted herself, frowning at the sudden thought that had entered her mind. She had been thinking about how Neverland was Peter, in some sense, and if he would notice how everything she had said could also apply to him, but, “do you… hear them? Your own pipes?”

He smiled, though this one was definitely sad, nothing of the pure joy that always lighted up his face and exploded in his body when he usually did. Wendy’s heart squeezed and she let out a little ‘oh’.

She couldn’t picture Curly or Nibs or Tootles, or any of them still feeling this way. What did Peter say? Lost, lonely and unloved. How dreadful was that, Wendy thought, shuddering lightly, her eyes burning. They were all such dear friends, sweet and kind to her. How could they think, ever think themselves lonely, or unloved? And Peter himself. Any of them, really.

“You- Don’t be sad,” Peter said, his hand flailing as if he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how, his nose scrunched in disapproval of her being sad. “Once you hear them, you hear them forever. I’ve stopped… feeling that way, now. I have a home, Neverland, and a family. The Boys.”

Swallowing back any urge of crying, Wendy nodded. “I’m glad to know that. No one should ever feel this way. And,” she added, as she saw her words only sunk him in confusion instead of making him smile again, “especially not on my watch.”


	14. All Girls Are Chatterboxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Wendy is falling

Neverland grew more wonderful with each passing day, Wendy was sure of it. The thought had dawned upon her one evening, just before sleeping, which was the time truth caught on people, she remembered someone telling her.

She had thought that she might end up, one morning, looking out of her window or stepping down to the grass, and wander around not in awe of everything anymore, everything finally becoming normal, but no. Several days must have passed, weeks perhaps, or months, it was difficult taking count of all of them, since she arrived. Yet every morning, with every outing, everything appeared to her as if it were the very first time she encountered it.

It was truly wonderful.

Stepping off her last step, Wendy hurried back to the camp for the mid-day meal. None of the Lost Boys were outside, however, so she found the right tree by knocking lightly on the bark and listening for any hollow sound, before she wiggled herself inside and went down the carved stairs within the tree, to the cavern below.

It was where the Boys slept, sometimes, but it was also often used as a playground during the days. Peter had imagined it a couple of days ago, when she had been surprised to hear they had no place to sleep and play sheltered. Everyone had agreed about the great idea, and so caverns were built, carved below the trees, half by hand and half by imagination.

As for many things in Neverland, it was up to everyone’s taste for the day. No one was ever forced to do anything, or be anywhere they didn’t want to be. It was truly a world without grown-ups and them telling you what to do. If anything, sometimes Curly or Tootles or the Twins were the ones who complied to Wendy’s own demands, when she asked for them to do so, playing their mother.

The cavern consisted of a large room, made only of wood as if they were still inside the tree, when Wendy knew it wasn’t the case. At the top of the walls were small windows, hidden from the outside by bushes, leaves and tall grass, so no one could take a glimpse inside while being outside. In the walls itself were carved alcoves, with blankets and pillows and a ladder leading to it, for the highest ones. A large table, not unlike the ones they used for dinners outside, stood in the middle of the room, all the time.

On one wall rested all the Boy’s weapons, as well as a few spare swords, bows or spears, or heavy sticks Wendy knew they used for training. One another, bunk beds, or pockets as Curly and Fox called them. Wendy had giggled at their antics, at first, before Peter had told them they called a bed this way because they had no memory from sleeping in one, before, nor ever seeing one. Her heart squeezed anew at those words. She had been ashamed of her reaction, then, contrite and regretful, even though no one blamed her for it, even before she had apologized.

Peter had ended up noticing, as he always did, and had told her not to worry about it, and that whatever the Boys had lived through before, it was over now. They did know what beds were like, and could sleep in them – or in one of the hammocks, or outside, under the stars – whatever they wanted. She had looked at him with a newly enhanced admiration from that day onward, nonetheless, the Shadows’ words to her taking an entire new meaning and importance.

Overall, the cavern wasn’t that different from the rooms they had at the beginning, Nibs had told her one day. Those had been just below the hanging tree, around the middle of the island. “We left because Hook found out the hiding place, one day,” he had told her, making her shiver at the thought it might happen to this one as well.

“Not much chance, Bird,” Peter had said, then, and Wendy’s worries had flown away before she could have spoken them aloud. Sometimes, Wendy genuinely thought the other Boy’s magic wasn’t extending only to Neverland, but that he was actually able to hear her thoughts.

Goodness, she hoped he couldn’t. She had no idea what he might think of her silly thoughts, that sometimes happened without her consent, when they strayed to wonder about him.

Since that day at the cliff, she and Peter spent more time together. She didn’t feel the urge to hide, or rush away when she happened by chance on him training or when their eyes met, and instead she would smile, or wave, and perhaps one of them would come to talk, or not. More often than not, one of them did. Therefore the Boy had begun to occupy more space in her thoughts than he had before.

For since that day at the cliff, Wendy had felt as if she were constantly walking amongst the clouds, with how giddy and elated she was feeling at her mere presence here. Her mere presence, as well as her surroundings and the company she was keeping.

A smile never left her face, and only grew wider with the hours that unfolded before her without her notice. She was here, in the most magical, the most wonderful world she could imagine, living the greatest adventure of all she believed, and nothing, no one could ever spoil it.

This was the main reason why she clicked her tongue when she glimpsed Tootles brooding in a corner of the cavern, his arms wrapped around his legs and keeping them tucked against his chest, his hair unkempt and his lips in the biggest pout she had ever seen.

That look had no place at all in this world, Wendy thought as her smile dimmed slightly, despite herself.

Yet it didn’t surprise her when she followed the glaring looks he was throwing and her own eyes fell on the two other Boys wrestling. Their faces were mostly hidden from where Wendy was standing, but she was sure Tootles must see them properly enough. To see them wasn’t needed, however, for she knew very well it was Nibs and Slightly the younger Boy was glaring at.

Wendy held back a soft sigh as she felt her heart squeeze in sympathy for Tootles, left on his own to look from the outside, his eyes burning with envy. Neither Nibs nor Slightly were paying him any attention – which was to be expected, as they were currently roughhousing around and trying to pin the other down. She believed the latter found Tootles too young to spend time with, and also that while Nibs would indulge Tootles for a few minutes, his preference would still inevitably go back to his other friend in a lapse that would end up too soon in Tootles’ opinion, no matter how long it truly lasted.

“Why don’t you go find one of the other?” she asked him softly, so Nibs and Slightly didn’t overheard and Tootles wouldn’t be embarrassed. The other Lost Boys were all outside, she gathered, playing one game or another, and there was certainly a place for Tootles, there. “Or perhaps Peter’s back.” He had left the previous afternoon, to go somewhere he had told her, and had left Rufio in charge of the Boys in the meantime. Wendy hadn’t seen him in the previous hours, yet she wasn’t worried in the least, more impatient to know where he had gone, and if this was a regular occurrence, and… all of other questions. “You could come with me, then,” she added lastly, after Tootles’ second answering groan, refusing to be deterred. “We’ll even go berry picking.” She knew Tootles liked berry picking.

But the Boy grunted a third time, his eyes not budging away from where Nibs was starting to win.

“Alright,” she said, making a show of turning away from him.

It worked. “It’s unfair,” Tootles grumbled.

Now Wendy felt her brows slightly pull together. “It is not a matter of fairness or not,” she chided him gently, before everything evaporated away. Poor Tootles was only feeling envious, having no friend amongst the Lost Boys as close to him as those two were, and it was not his fault. “They’re dear friends. Now if you went outside and found the others; Wiley or-”

“Don’t like him,” Tootles muttered, interrupting her. “Nibs’ the nicest of them and-”

The opportunity for asking more about this was cut short when loud footsteps started to be heard from above and, suddenly, Peter was back in the cave, swiftly followed by Rufio, Felix and the Twins.

Burning and almost bursting with curiosity, Wendy skipped to them, listening to Rufio’s report of the past day and trying to get a hint of what happened to Peter, to no avail. And so Wendy waited for the right opportunity, which presented itself quickly enough, that very same afternoon, when Peter had agreed to walk her to the ocean when she asked.

“It is very kind of you to come with me,” Wendy said, to open the conversation. Her mind was swimming in a thousand of other kind things she had noticed Peter did, other than leaving whatever he had been doing so he could accompany her. Like the way he never failed to offer to walk her to her treehouse, once night had fallen. Or the way he made sure he wasn’t walking too fast for her shorter legs. Or the way she sometimes caught looking fondly at her, as she told stories to the Lost Boys. Or the way he hovered near, on those times, and half listened, she was sure of it. Or the impressed way he had looked at her, just now, when she had pushed a bush away from their path only by picturing it almost absentmindedly. Or…

Wendy felt her cheeks warm up at her endless string of thoughts.

All of them were true, though. She wanted to tell him how she noticed all those things, and was grateful for each of them, but was feeling too shy to.

Instead, she talked about everything that sprung into her mind. Her family, the birds she saw every morning flying next to her window, the next story she planned on telling, that night, one she had imagined from start to finish, her never ending wonder at everything being Neverland, or even her fourth and fifth encounter with his Shadow, back in London.

Peter listened, a smile curling at his lips and widening more each sentence, and Wendy’s heart pounded in her ears. His eyes were crinkling, as well. He was beautiful. She had to bit on her lip to prevent herself from telling him this, in the middle of her retelling of her brother John’s disappointed face, one Christmas ago, when he had thought his only present had been a letter.

“He didn’t even open the letter!” She giggled fondly at her brother’s reaction. “Little did he know, but his present was actually waiting for him at the end of the stairs. It was a bike. They simply didn’t want to carry it upstairs, only to have to carry it back downstairs. Mother had drawn the bike on a card, and they had put the card under John’s pillow, as the bike would’ve been impossible to.” Peter laughed as well.

It was almost as if Matthew, the milk boy who used to tip his cap to her every morning was standing next to her, was doing all those things, except stronger. Livelier.

Wendy didn’t quite know how to put it, exactly, but she certainly knew she especially loved every second like this one, when it was only Peter and her. She thanked him again.

“Not a problem, Bird.” Since that first night, after the cliffs, he had taken on calling her this. It never failed to bring warmth within Wendy’s chest either. She was named anew, and was truly a part of them, now. “I suppose ladies do enjoy bathing more often than we’ve taken the habit of doing.”

Her nose scrunched slightly at the idea that the Boys, unlike her, weren’t bathing every evening as she did once she was back in her treehouse. Peter chuckled. Well, she supposed that as long as none were sleeping within her sheets, as sometimes she recalled Michael had been wont to do, she wouldn’t complain much. She still promised herself to check behind Curly’s ears more often.

The last time she had, well, let it only be said that the afternoon had been put to good use and she had trailed every single Lost Boy to the shore, for a well-needed scrub.

“Probably,” she granted, making Peter chuckle once again and her smile widen. “Although I suppose baths do are bothersome for certain people, depending on their temperaments. My brother Michael, for example, hates them. Our nurse Nana is always forced to imagine the greatest schemes to have him take one. You should see them. One time, I remember he hid himself in one of the kitchen’s cupboard, so little he is, and stayed there until he fell asleep. We searched for him everywhere, none of us knew his hiding spot. How the house ended up! Mother was beyond herself with worry – we all were, to be fair – and Father was furious. I told him how wicked he had been, to have us worry so and he barely apologized. Wouldn’t have, I’m sure, had Father not insisted, and he was sent to bed without dessert. I can’t remember John ever behaving this naughtily, even though I was too young to remember him being this young.”

“And I can’t remember someone ever talking this much,” Peter laughed. Eyes widening slightly, Wendy snapped her lips together, feeling her face warm at the true ring of the sting. “Girls do are chatterboxes, aren’t they? At least that’s something that didn’t change.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy murmured, feeling even more embarrassed by the knowledge that she became a chatterbox only when she was embarrassed, or so excited she felt like she was about to burst. It was a pain that reaction only seemed to come up with Peter nowadays, as he was the main one she certainly did not want to feel more embarrassed before. Or, oh goodness, have him associate her with… those other girls. Especially with the way his lips had twisted when he had mentioned them.

She considered him so special herself, she wished he would return the appreciation.

Her heart gave a tremble at the thought of Peter thinking her special.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s nice hearing you be this… enthusiastic about your brother. You seem to have many happy memories of him.”

“Oh I do!” He eyed her strangely, then, she thought, though she couldn’t pinpoint what felt so strange about the way he looked at her. Perhaps she still sounded too enthusiastic. She had no idea. “I mean, yes, very sweet ones.”

They kept on talking, the conversation feeling slightly stilted at first until Wendy’s reservations wilted away and she found her confidence back, and then it felt as if they had always known each other, while still being surprising enough as they discovered things they had never expected about the other. Or, at least, she did.

Everything she ended up recalling about him, every night before falling asleep, as slumber would elude her with how loud and strong her heart was beating inside her chest, he managed to surpass the following one, without fail. More than special, Peter was extraordinary, incredible, like no other boy Wendy had ever known.

His eyes gleamed when she finally asked him what she had wanted to know, about his travels the past few hours. She had missed him greatly. “The first place is a surprise, Bird, I can’t say anything about it. You’ll see for yourself soon.”

Unfortunately, he remained tight-lipped and straightforward in his will to refuse, and nothing she could do changed his mind. Nor her claim that she would know sooner or later, nor even the small lie that she wasn’t fond of surprises, and nor her promise that she would keep the Boys out of the confidence.

“I know you would,” Peter said, his voice turning soft out of nowhere, and their steps slowing down as one. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him dart another quick glance at her, and her smile threatened to split her cheeks in half. “I see you, with them. Curly, most of all.”

“You do?”

“Aye. It’s… You don’t have to do that. Telling them stories,” he added at her confused expression, “entertaining them. They’re fine.”

“I know they are.” She watched him nod once, curtly, as if he was glad. It was puzzling. “It is only a game we’re playing.”

“A game?” The reassurance obviously picked his interest, and he stopped to look at her in the way he sometimes did. Wendy didn’t know if it was gladness, curiosity or something else. She’d like to think of it as awe, but perhaps it was the last daisy speaking, and thus strived to be careful. That one had said Peter loved her a lot, and Wendy had kept the plucked flower on her vanity. “That’s good, then. We’re fond of games, here.”

“I’ve noticed!” It was hard not to. “I’d like to join you all, someday, if I can.”

“Join us? Would you like to go fight the pirates?” He wiggled one eyebrow, snorting when she huffed.

“Of course not. Is it all you’re doing, during the days? It can’t be, I won’t believe it. What about that boy you were searching for? Did you find him yet?”

“No, not yet. And you’re right, Bird, I’ll need your help with that. You’ll get to play, soon.”

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied, before she stirred the conversation toward its previous subject.

“Oh, then I went to visit Oz.”

“Oz,” Wendy breathed out, her mouth parted and stretched in an awed smile. “You were gone to Oz. Oz exists.”

“You know of it? I thought you came from the Land-”

“-without magic,” she finished for him. “Yes, I do. There is this story, however, from America, about a girl’s travel to the magical Land of Oz. She meets a wizard, there, and a lion, a tin woodman and a scarecrow, the Good Witch of the South and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“From the Land Without Magic, you say? That’s fascinating.”

For sure not as much as what he had just told her. “And you’ve been there. What is it like? How do you get there? The girl was taken by a tornado but-” she frowned, for there had been no tornadoes in Neverland during Peter’s departure, before her face lighted up. “Did you fly there?”

“I did. It’s… special. A strange land, almost as strange as Wonderland, or the Fairytale Land.”

“Wonder- Fairytale Land…” She sighed, not knowing what to do with that newfound information. It sounded so wonderful – not that she believed either of those lands had anything on Neverland. “Can we travel there, as well?”

Peter nodded. “We wouldn’t be as well-received as we would be in Oz, however. I’ve never met that lion you’re talking about, but I do have some acquaintance with the princess, there, and I’ve certainly heard about the wizard. The people of Oz like me, they call me his apprentice, or something like that. Even though I’ve never met him. It’s a distinction, for people with powerful magic.”

“That is indeed who you are,” Wendy admitted, looking down coyishly as a new thing added up to the pile of what she found admirable about Peter Pan. That very same boy who was walking next to her, and telling her about his stay there, and that time he visited some place called the Land Without Color, where everything looked like a photography.

Wendy could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore when Peter suddenly stilled, putting his arm in front of her and stopped talking mid-word. The cautious expression on his features, one she didn’t know about him, made Wendy’s heart and her limbs run cold.

“Be quiet, Bird,” he whispered to her, before holding her in his arms and flying up to a high branch. They stayed there, Wendy not breathing at all as her gaze alternated between glancing down, below her dangling feet, to the ground, and back up to Peter’s face, where his eyes were gleaming and a strange smirk was pulling at his lips. “Pirates,” he mouthed to her when he noticed her staring.

Sure enough, two old men stepped out of the bushes not a minute later, holding a long sword and an axe like Fox’s and looking around, muttering things Wendy couldn’t hear between themselves. Her hand found Peter’s sleeve and grasped it as her heart started to pound wildly. The two pirates looked like they were looking for them, specifically, and didn’t continue their way.

After some time, Peter leaned closer. Wendy swallowed heavily, her eyes darting away only to widen when she saw he had taken out his dagger. “Don’t move,” he told her, and she was about to say something, understanding dawning on her, to plead for him to stay with her, when he flew before her, all trace of caution forgotten and, with a voice and laugh as clear as bells, said, “Watch this, Wendy, and have fun,” before diving for the two pirates.

Swords clanging and old, gruff war cries echoed between Wendy’s loud heartbeats and she swiftly hide her face in her hands and prayed for this to be over and Peter to be fine. Goodness, two against one, and-

She ended up unable to look away any longer when she heard a gunshot being fired and, terror in her throat, she searched desperately for Peter’s face until she heard him laugh, louder than she had ever and she sagged in relief against the tree trunk.

Peter unharmed, the fight between the three of them continued, Wendy gasping and twisting at her fingers every time the situation looked uncertain for Peter. She followed his every move, a lump growing in her throat and her stomach all in knots.

Soon, however, thank for her heart, Peter managed to kill one pirate, allowing Wendy’s heart a bit of respite from its frantic pounding, and the second one followed the first’s steps swiftly, though she didn’t become aware of that fact until she felt Peter’s hand on her shoulder, having turned her gaze away as soon as the first pirate had crumbled to the ground, as a puppet which strings would have been cut.

“Are you scared, Bird?” he asked, floating in front of her, his head cocked to one side and his brows pulled together, as if he didn’t understand what could make her look away so.

Wendy felt her cheeks warm. “I… am not. Not anymore, at least. I didn’t want them to harm you, or kidnap you.”

Snorting derisively, Peter motioned for her to wrap her arm around his shoulder. Wendy did so enthusiastically, her fingers clutching at his shoulder as he flew them down, back to the ground, one of his arms beneath her knees, his other around her back.

It was impossible to be scared when she was being held so securely, Wendy thought.

“Not a chance,” he said, “they’re mostly idiots. Only Hook’s somewhat of an entertaining enemy.”

She chuckled lightly, feeling herself comforted by the fact, albeit the pang of disappointment she felt when his feet touched the ground and she had to stand up again dimmed her smile. It gave her a more serious tone when she spoke again, softly and after darting a look behind her shoulder, to the two pirates lying face down on the grass. It almost didn’t look real, but Wendy’s heart remembered its panic a mere minute ago, when it could have been Peter in their place. Peter and her.

Yet he hadn’t hesitated, and now comforted her when she should be the one doing so, Wendy felt, for it was how it happened in stories.

“You were very brave,” she murmured, adding this moment to the rapidly growing list of things she admired Peter for, again. “Thank you.”


	15. Mermaids' Lagoon

“No, wait!”

The cry had escaped Wendy’s mouth, and she pressed her palm against it in dismay. Now that for sure would not help, she thought as she watched the small animal leap behind bushes. Standing up, she dusted her dress as best as she could – it was starting to grow more brown than white today, but since she was on her own, Wendy didn’t mind.

She padded after the fawn she had just pictured, her mouth opening to call him before she reconsidered. One too sudden movement had been all it had taken, and the fawn had leaped away from her. Wendy wasn’t scared for it – the mid-day meal had just passed, and the Boys were either at camp going about whatever they wanted, or had followed Peter to go fight the Indians, so hunting moment was over. But she had thought of picturing an animal friend for herself – after all, which heroine didn’t have a magical animal partner? She had told the boys the story of Little Red Riding Hood and they had all been quite enthusiastic about the wolf.

Wendy had even glimpsed Peter laughing, and she had thought that he would be impressed with her, if she managed to tame a wolf. Perhaps she could even join them, the next time they would leave to go fight the Indians. Wouldn’t her brothers be in awe if she told them she had fought Indians! Wendy had found herself fascinated with them, ever since Peter had taken her to see their chief – who had been a girl, surprisingly – after they had barely escaped an attack of pirates, the two of them. Tiger Lily, her name had been, and she had been as brave as she was fierce, all the Boys had said so.

Peter had, as well, a glint in his eyes Wendy longed to see addressed to her.

A lump in her throat, Wendy had gathered that Tiger Lily, an Indian chief, a warrior princess who would spar with him in their spare time, was the sort of girl he liked, brave and towering and majestic.

Like him.

But not like her in the least.

Thus, Wendy had sneaked out of the camp once he was gone, with the idea of surprising him – all of them, truly – at their return. She had opted to begin with a less scary-looking animal, though, hence the fawn. Biting her lip hard, Wendy blinked away the tears that threatened to fall when she couldn’t find the fawn back, even after what seemed hours of searching. To picture that one had taken all her energy as well, so picturing another was out of the question for the day.

“What are you doing?” A voice came from her left. Wiley’s voice. Wendy babbled an excuse, her hands waving in the air. It was supposed to be a surprise. “I was going to go to the sea. Will you come?”

Wendy’s eyes widened. “I can’t. Peter’s not here.” She had thought Wiley had left with the others, too – usually Tootles and the Twins were the one who stayed behind, not Wiley.

“And?”

She shifted on her feet, uneasy though she couldn’t figure out why. “I can’t go to the sea by myself. That’s the rule.” Wendy shrugged. She had thought all the Boys knew of the rule.

Wiley certainly seemed to know what she was referring to, at least, because his face lighted with understanding. “Oh!” he said. “The mermaids!”

Wendy’s head jerked up. “Mermaids?” Her heart skipped a beat. That sounded way more better than pirates, or another girl Peter liked!

Wiley’s lips crooked into a knowing smile. “Uh uh. He must think you’re afraid of them.”

Wendy’s eyes widened even more. Peter thought she’d be scared of mermaids? She would love to meet one! “Absolutely not! Wiley, do tell me, what are they like? Are they as enchanting as the stories say?” They must be, Wendy thought. Beautiful woman with vibrant fish tails and mesmerizing voices. Oh, how she wanted to see one!

“They are.”

“Do you think Peter’ll take me to them? When he’ll be back? Does he- Do you think he really thinks I’d be afraid?”

“Well,” Wiley said, half shrugging, “you’re a girl.”

Wendy stood there, gaping, her arms dangling. Did Peter think her a coward, on top of it all? She agreed that, at least compared to girls like Tiger Lily, she was much more gentle, and less prone to pick a fight, but Peter didn’t think her a coward because of this, did he? She had never asked him. She didn’t know for sure.

Was it because of… because of… She frowned slightly, trying to remember a moment where she had acted silly. She couldn’t come up with anything. Sure, there had been that time at the shore, when she had hesitated to jump, and that other time, where she had said that the pirates indeed sounded terrifying, especially ones that would cut their own hand to put a hook at its place, or that time when they had scared her and she had shrieked so loud Rufio had sworn he had heard her on the other side of Neverland. But, other than these… and they hadn’t even been her fault entirely – pirates did indeed sound scary, it was common sense, nothing else.

“I’m quite daring,” she blurted out, stomping her feet in the grass to prove her point.

But Wiley didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked almost bothered for her stead. “I think you’ll need to prove it, then.”

“Fine.” Wendy swallowed. “What do I have to do?” Wiley raised his eyebrows, but said nothing for so long Wendy wondered if he was making fun of her.

“Come with me,” he finally said, as if it were obvious. “Maybe we’ll see some mermaids.”

Wendy didn’t follow suite at once. Peter had said-

But then, that would surprise him. Perhaps? More than taming a wolf? Tiger Lily must tame plenty of wolves, but the Indians’ camp was as far from the sea as it could possibly be. But Wendy didn’t have the slightest idea what to do to be daring, and brave, and admired by Peter Pan. She supposed Wiley’s idea was as good as any – were mermaids more dangerous than a real wolf? She didn’t think so, but maybe she could save the wolf for a later time. Maybe she could start with the truly brilliant surprise, and then move on to safer ones. That would please Peter, she was sure.

Thus she followed Wiley to the shore, her step resolute and daring, squinting at the horizon in the hope of spotting a mermaid. He pointed at a place, a bit hidden from the beach, where she could sit on the rocks while he dipped into the sea. Wendy sat where he told her to, and entertained herself watching her feet peek out from the dark water.

“Have you ever seen one?” she asked Wiley when he resurfaced.

“A dead one, yes.” Wendy’s mouth pulled down. What a tragedy! She understood Peter didn’t want to show her, not this. “Hook had gotten her.” This brought a shiver up Wendy’s spine. She had never met the captain of the pirates’ ship that she sometimes glimpsed through the forest, and she was perfectly content with it never be the case, but the meeting with the two pirates and the stories Curly and Tootles had told her of his cruelty and viciousness were enough for her. Wiley’s remark only confirmed that she was better off never meeting him. What kind of monster would kill a mermaid?

“That’s horrifying,” she murmured as she imagined the poor, frightened mermaid, caught in the middle of a band of evil pirates.

Wiley nodded. “He gutted her.” Wendy pressed a hand against her mouth and turned her head away at the mental picture. “Slashed her belly open with his hook.” Her heart stopped when she felt something against her belly and she shrieked and scrambled away as Wiley laughed at her reaction, his fingers crooked in an imitation of a hook.

Spreading her palms on the flat surface of the rock, Wendy coughed to cover her embarrassment. Thank goodness Peter hadn’t been there, she thought, reminding herself that she was supposed to prove them all she was as fearless as they all were. Thus, she forced her cough to transform into a chuckle as she crawled back to the edge and didn’t duck away when Wiley pretended to slash her once more.

“What a girl you are, Wendy-bird!” he said, and Wendy lowered her head, her cheeks burning. She was, but Wiley didn’t meant it as a compliment. She had the growing suspicion, those past days, that none of them truly did. None of them but Peter, she amended, the warmth in her cheeks turning hotter. He was the one who came up with the nickname, and yes, at first it had sounded as teasing as it did when the rest of the Boys said it – the ones who did, anyway but…

“Look!” Wiley shouted, making her startle. He pointed to something on the horizon, and Wendy took a moment to remember why they were here on the first place.

“Is this a mermaid?” She scooted closer to the edge, so that she was nearly in the water, and leaned over, trying to see past the sun.

“Or a big fish,” Wiley said, swimming closer to her. They stayed unmoving, but no mermaid came to play with them. Sighing softly as disappointment coursed through her, Wendy willed herself not to be saddened.

Wiley dived into the water once again, and she leaned forward again, awaiting his report and his conclusion. The sky had turned darker, the wind picking up, making the water turn impenetrable, and Wendy barely had time to think to herself what a strange idea he had, to come here just before nightfall that she felt something graze her legs, underwater.

She frowned, remembering that she had never seen any kind of fish appear without being imagined first, like any other animal here. She brought her head closer to the surface, tilting it in order to attempt to distinguish something, to no avail, before she understood. Wiley.

Rolling her eyes, taking advantage of the fact that she knew no one could see her do so, she opened her mouth to call him back, for his joke was done and it had failed, when a sharp pain spread in her legs. Wendy felt herself being pulled forcefully underwater, and her surprised shout was cut in its half as she swallowed the salty dark waters.

With effort, she managed to blink her eyes open, seeing nothing but thousands of little bubbles all around her. For a moment, nothing was different than when she had jumped with the Boys, and Wendy searched the darkness for Wiley, waiting for his grip to loosen on her legs and move to her arms to pull her out, so that she could give him a proper scolding for scaring her this much, but there was no Wiley.

Her mouth fell open when she glimpsed instead an enormous glowing fish tail, one of her hand immediately moving to her throat as she breathed no air, but water. Her body kicked and twisted as she forced herself not to take another breath, trying to free her legs.

But to do what, Wendy thought as she looked around desperately, her eyes burning and her head starting to feel too light, her chest too tight. Everything burned, her legs, her lungs, and her head. She didn’t know where the surface was. Water, and only dark water was surrounding her and she was brought deeper and deeper with a strength her tired limbs could never match.

She thought she heard herself whine as something flashed next to her hand, following by a sting so harsh it diverted her attention from the pain in her legs. She feebly kicked her legs when she felt whatever gripped them loosen its hold, trying to imitate the way the Twins had shown her to swim upward, but she felt the greater pressure on her chest press harder and harder until she suddenly wanted nothing more than to sleep.

The water turned darker, her eyes following suite, though she didn’t know when she had finally closed them. She didn’t know much of anything, until an arm hooked under her knees and a solid presence pressed against her arm and suddenly she was moving down and down and down until the water disappeared and the cold air hit her face.

“Breathe,” was murmured in her ear before she was unceremoniously dropped on the cold sand, shivering. She coughed and chocked on nothing as she struggled to obey, her throat and entire chest and face burning. She gasped as a hand shot out of nowhere, gripped her shoulder and turned her on her back. “Wiley?” Peter demanded, his hair wet and sticking to his face, his eyes incensed.

Wendy’s first reaction to that look was to shrink, but Peter shook her again, gritting, “Wiley. Answer me, girl. Is he there, too?”

Her nod was shaky, but Peter caught her answer and flew back to the waters, leaving her on the shore, trying to regain her breathing. Wendy then tried to stand, but her legs were too weak for her. It was no matter, though, for soon enough after she started to try, Peter flew out of the water, holding Wiley. The two of them fell next to Wendy’s feeble attempts and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Wiley’s pallid face.

“Is- is he dead?” she whispered, her voice making her chest hurt. Peter glared at her, but Wiley started to cough, answering Wendy’s question. She let out a relieved sob, and then couldn’t stop.

It seemed to her she could feel Peter’s angry gaze on her all the way to and the hand gripping her arm, helping her upright and walking, felt cold despite the blowing wind warming them up. The sky rumbled and the air tasted heavy, like a storm was brewing. Wendy’s sobs didn’t abate during the long walk, the only sound between the three of them, though they thankfully remained tearless ones. Out of all the spots in her body which were aching, however, none of them hurt half as much as her heart did, as if one dark look from Peter was enough to have it shrink on itself.

He flew away as soon as she could limp to her bed, and it felt like long hours, deep into the night, before Peter came again.

“Curly.” The call made them both startle, and Peter appeared in her door mere seconds after, motioning for the young boy to leave them alone. Had Wendy had her word to say on the matter, she would’ve insisted for Curly to remain beside her, but Peter looked angry enough without her opening her mouth and making things worse.

Wendy pressed her back against the headboard as Peter strode to her, looming over her hunched form. Wendy bit back a whine when he sat on her bed, making her legs move while she had tried not to. The walk back to her treehouse had been painful enough, and she had had to force herself not to glance at her legs, who had started to turn her dress blood red, lest she feared she would faint, or break down crying. She had cried – a little bit only – before Curly came to comfort her, but she had to be strong now.

Peter made no comment to the large strips of cloth Curly and she had imagined and wrapped around her calves, both sporting five bloody lines each, from below her knees to her ankles, where the mermaid had grabbed her and pulled her down, trying to drown her. He wordlessly unwrapped them and moved his hands above it, healing it the way she had healed her hand, when she had arrived. Wendy watched him, motionless, her heart pounding, the warmth of her legs healing unmatching the one that spread in her chest.

Wiping discreetly a tear away, she murmured her thanks. “Peter,” she called, louder, when he turned on his feet and made a move to leave. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t think you’d need a reminder, girl.” She flinched, both at the harsh tone of his voice and at the ‘girl’ part. His eyes, when he turned back, were frightening.

“I wanted-” No, she thought, wrapping her arms around her legs, she couldn’t tell him.

“Yes, what did you want? Do tell. What was the reason you had to want Wiley killed?”

“No, I never wanted that.” Wendy shook her head in emphasis, her eyes blurring. “I wanted to see a mermaid.” She had wanted to impress him, to make him realize she was as brave as Tiger Lily was, perhaps more. But now, she thought, sniffling softly, now everything was ruined.

“The fact that you admit it won’t change anything. Don’t go by the sea, that was your only rule.” He scoffed as she lowered her head. “You almost killed Wiley, and yourself, too. I should-”

“Please don’t send me back!” Wendy jerked her head up, willing herself to meet Peter’s eyes, no matter how angry he looked. She felt her cheeks heat at her presumption. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I swear-”

“That goes without saying.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy said again. She felt another tear fall, and she wiped it away, but under Peter’s disgusted glare this time.

“This won’t work,” she heard him spit at her, motioning at her face, and it only made her sob harder, though she wasn’t trying to soften him with her tears. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t be crying at all. “You can stay here,” he declared, standing up and looking down at her. Wendy opened her mouth to thank him and make a thousand more promises to be good, but he held up a hand, and she remained quiet. “But I don’t want you to leave this house anymore. You’ll stay _here_ , and not bother me or the other Boys. Are we clear?”

Wendy pressed her lips tightly together, so that no sob escaped her again although a thousand were bursting up her belly, and nodded. “Peter?” She called his name once more, as he stood in the doorframe of the house he built for her. Her voice was wobbly and probably more pitiful sounding than it should be, but she had to know. “Will you,” she stopped to swallow back her tears, “ever forgive me?”

She understood that he was too angered right now, but for sure, one day…

“This is your forgiveness,” he said, and for a moment Wendy dared to hope. “The only one you’ll ever have.”


	16. A Mother's Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter, a bit shorter than usual but the next one will make up for it!  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Peter’s words still echoed in her mind for the following days, playing again and again before her eyes and making Wendy’s heart cave on itself, as if a part of it had gone missing ever since he had crossed her door to never come back, three days ago.

Goodness, it had only been three days. In rare moments of sense, Wendy realized how little time it sounded to anyone else’s ears. Yet it didn’t change how it felt to her.

She saw him sometimes, strangely sensing him coming near her treehouse when he did. Then, she would stand next to her window and take a peep, quick and short ones as not to be seen on the other side. Peter usually simply stood in front of the stairs, sometimes starting to pace before him.

Never did he came up, however. He remained on the ground, or flew to a nearby tree and watch the treehouse from a branch.

She didn’t think he was aware she was watching him, and her cheeks never failed to warm up at this. She would sigh longingly, and reflect on how much she missed him. Missed their conversations, which had happened daily in the last days, before she ruined everything, missed seeing him smile, missing the proud feeling she had when she was the reason who made him smile this way, or who brought that strange surprised and curious look he sometimes sported after, or when she caught him watching her from afar.

Burying her head in her pillow, Wendy took a deep breath for an equally deep longing sigh, only to turn it into a small one at the thought of anyone – Peter – hearing it and think her boring, on top of it all.

Despite his anger toward her, she had noticed him flying to one of the nearby trees a few times in the past three days. He would sit down on a branch, facing her treehouse, one leg dangling in the air, and watch. He would do nothing but look, sometimes for hours on end, his face too far for her to read it.

They certainly didn’t sound bored without her, she thought, listening from the thumping sounds of stomping feet, clapping hands, and banging wood coming from outside her window. She couldn’t hear the music they were dancing on, but she had attended enough dinners to know what was happening. Were she here or not. The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth. Peter played and they all danced, and sometimes, Peter would join them. Other times, they would picture the most beautiful masks of birds or mighty animals, ones Wendy had never seen with her own two eyes but that filled her with such wonder she often felt breathless.

She remembered being happy, and relished in the warm and laugh-full memories but, as the night grew darker and the noises fainter until she could only hear the silence, Wendy felt suddenly anything but joyful.

The sensation took her by surprise. Once she became conscious of it – of the lump in her throat and the sadness that made her eyes and the back of her tongue sting – it was as if it only grew and grew and grew, making it hard to breathe. Wiping harshly at her eyes, Wendy turned in her bed and put her arms around her pillow, hugging it tight and burying her head in its softness.

The pillow-hug worked its wonder and soon enough, the stings in her eyes were because of the strain and tiredness of the day – she wasn’t used in staying up so late that no sound at all reached her – and not from suppressed tears. Wendy yawned loudly and then chuckled a bit to herself at the satisfied sound that escaped her lips, as she curled up under the blanket and promised herself that tomorrow, yes tomorrow would be another day and she would find the way to make it up to everybody.

She was about to let sleep fully take her for another night when a sound, similar to an animal whining, made her eyes open wide and her heart start hammering inside her chest. Wendy held her breath and waited, covered and safe, ear attentive. She couldn’t hear the Boys moving around, so she told herself it must not be worrisome, but it happened again, and again.

It was a faint noise, high-pitched but chilling her to her very bones, leaving her cold and with tears in her eyes.

Shaking her head, Wendy got out of her bed and padded to the door, holding onto the frame with her hands as a gust made her sway in the air. Her eyes narrowed to scrutinize the area, but there was nothing, nothing but a loud intake of breath that decided her to come down the ladder, her hand gripping at the ramp.

She was disobeying Peter again, she could feel it, and the implications it brought, with every step closer to the ground, but her heart was aching with every pained sound, youthful sounding, which had to come from one of the Boys. She simply couldn’t stay away.

“Are you hurt?” she asked in the empty space, looking worriedly around her. It was also the first time she had been up, and alone, in the dark and the island seemed so hugely different she wanted to turn around to the safe place that was her bed. Who knew what lurked in the night, behind the trees, in a world where even mermaids were malevolent?

Still, Wendy had promised herself she would be brave and, besides, she may be the only one to hear the sound. The only one in capacity to help.

Her feet led her to the camp, and she spared a thought to her lucky star for not getting lost even though she couldn’t see where she was, her mind too preoccupied to remember that she should have only imagined a light for it to appear. Everyone slept outside the cavern, some in hammocks while others were simply sprawled on the ground, some were alone and others were not, piled with one, two or three fellow boys. But there was no sound, no whine and no crying.

Wendy was about to decide she had dreamt the whole thing and go back to her treehouse before anyone noticed her presence when a small voice whispered, “Mother, is that you? What are you doing?”

Berating herself internally for being too loud and waking him up, Wendy shushed him. “It’s nothing, Curly.” She blinked as the young boy did what she should have done and made a soft light appear between them, floating in the air. “You’ll wake the others. I’m sorry for waking you, go back to sleep.” She made a move to leave but Curly’s hand snatched up the bottom of her dress as the whiny sound echoed once more among the camp. “Did you hear that? What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Curly whispered back, his left hand lifting to rub the sleep out of his eyes, as his right one was still clutched in Wendy’s dress. “It’s Nibs. The Twins. Wiley, maybe.”

“Are they hurt?”

“They’re dreaming,” Curly said, “about their parents.”

“Their parents?” Wendy’s eyes darted to the closest Boy, Felix, who was sleeping soundly not far from where Curly was, and seemed unbothered by the quiet sobbing she could hear from behind her. She turned around, and her heart squeezed as her throat closed when she saw the Twins, huddled close together and with their faces scrunched and cheeks glistening with tears.

Curly nodded, raised his hands to her and Wendy quickly crouched next to him and welcomed him in her arms. “They miss them,” he admitted, her shoulder muffling the words as he clung more forcefully at her, “during the night, always.”

“But not the day?”

She felt Curly shrug. “They don’t remember, during the day.”

“They don’t?” She couldn’t wrap her mind around this. How could one forget they missed their parents?

“You do?”

“No,” she answered immediately, and it was the truth. She simply… couldn’t remember when the last time she had thought of her parents was, now that she thought about it. “Do you?”

“I don’t have a mother, before. Don’t have anyone to remember.”

The words broke Wendy’s heart, and she gasped, her hands flying to Curly’s cheeks as she leaned back, breaking their hug but gazing properly into the big childish eyes that gleamed in the starry night. “Of course you do. Everyone has a mother.”

“You’re my mother. You said so,” he added when she found herself speechless.

“I did, yes but I’m… I’m afraid it’s not the same. I’m afraid it’s a very poor thing compared to a real one. Curly, I’m not your real mother. It’s only pretend.”

“No, it’s not,” he protested, perhaps too loudly for the middle of the night, his eyes beginning to glisten. Behind them, the Twins responded by another whine which sent a rush of ice in Wendy’s chest. Yet what could she do? This was the truth. Yet Curly didn’t listen, shook his head and ignored her soft explanation. “I know you’re my mother. You take care of me and tell stories.” It was true, but a mother was so much more than this. Though she didn’t know how to explain it to him. She didn’t know what being a mother entailed for real, she could only guess from what she remembered her own mother had said or done. Surely this wasn’t the same. “Promise you won’t leave us.”

This, she could do. It wasn’t much, to her, but this was something she could do. Easy, even, almost like a second nature. She couldn’t fathom how anyone would want to leave. “I promise. I have no intention to leave.” They stayed silent for a while, so long Wendy wondered if Curly, whose breathing had slowed down and whose face was still buried in the crook of her neck, had fallen asleep.

When she attempted to lay him down, however, he clung to her with an even fiercer urgency, and a faint, small whine spilled past his lips. “Don’t. Stay a bit longer.”

“Alright. Are you… are you recalling her? Your mother from before?”

She stopped talking when his head shaking grew more pronounced. “No I don’t. I never have,” he told her and, for the first time, Wendy noticed his casualness. For the first time, she made the effort to recall her own mother’s face, and father’s, and… and brothers’.

For the first time, she grew scared.

Though, as the sun came out, declaring the start of another day, and Peter found her waking up next to Curly and only gawped at the sight of her, awe sparkling in his eyes, though not at her nerve to disobey him again, she couldn’t remember why.


	17. Fairies' Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheeky? Corny? Maybe, yes, but I couldn't resist x)  
> So here's a new chapter, on a not-Wednesday for once. It's a bit inspired from the 2003 movie, so you may recognize a couple of things.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Wendy had spent the following days mostly holed up in her treehouse, though she peeked out for a few games, ones she was certain Peter wouldn’t be too involved in. He hated her, she was sure of it, just he had said he did when she had disobeyed him. Just like he had warned her it would happen. Suffer through the consequences, he had said, and that smile she had imagined, that morning after talking with Curly, it hadn’t meant anything, and nothing had changed.

She hadn’t dared go near him, even though she had convinced herself every night she was brave enough to do so the following day. Yet days passed, and she found out she wasn’t, and everything started again anew the following one.

Wendy sniffled softly when she heard Curly knocking at the doorframe – she had left it open to enjoy to warm breeze – “Come in,” she told him. Curly sometimes would visit her during the day, with the same puzzled look when he wondered why she stayed up there all the time, and how she could find herself not bored by it. She always found excuses to reassure him, but the truth was, she was far too miserable to feel bored.

But this time, it wasn’t Curly that had come to pay her a visit, and Wendy gasped when Peter flew past her threshold and came down in the middle of the room. “Good evening, Bird,” Peter said to her – it had to be to her, there was no one else but them in there and, were circumstances different between them, were he not so angry at her and her not so ashamed, she would have blushed.

“Good… good evening Peter.” Her voice was small, smaller than his was, from where she was half-turned on her chair to gawk at him. She didn’t know what to think of his presence here. Was he going to scold her again? At least he wasn’t calling her “girl” in that horrible mean voice, the way he had after her folly. She was back to being Bird, and couldn’t help but feel like it was a good sign. Peter, after all, always called everyone by a nickname of his invention – he was the one who had found new names for the Lost Boys when they came to Neverland for the first time, and it was obvious to anyone who was looking that he cared for the Lost Boys.

She smiled up at him, hopeful, not daring to move lest she’d break the tentative forgiveness.

Peter wasn’t looking at her, instead his attention was focused at times on the window, at other times on the elegant wrought iron bedpost. But he was the one who moved first, extending his arm and his closed fist to her, opening it. “For you,” he added, and, seeing him here, and him having brought a present, made her heart miss a beat.

She gasped when she looked down at it. It was a hair comb, with more intricate and beautiful adornments that she had ever seen in her life. The sort of one couldn’t even see in _à la mode_ shops in London or Paris. The sort that would belong to princesses.

Her hands were trembling slightly when she took it, a warmth in her chest spreading to her cheeks when her fingertips brushed accidentally against the skin of his palm, making her stammer. “It’s lovely. It’s… Thank you. Did you- did you imagine it?” she asked in an as subtle as possible attempt not to have him leave so soon.

“I didn’t,” he said, his little pleased smile at her reaction turning into a frown, and Wendy berated herself for asking, for maybe spoiling everything. “It’s from the loot. We had a fight, with the mermaids, the other day,” he explained when her brows furrowed in concern.

“Are y- is everyone alright? Is any Boy hurt?”

“Nah.” His mouth curled in a half-smile as his eyes finally locked with hers, their corner crinkling and shining with pride. Wendy’s own features softened, and her lips stretched into a small smile. “What about you?” he asked, and Wendy’s small smile turned into a wide one. “Curly is worried you’re turning into a statue, with how little fun you must have, in there.”

“I’m perfectly alright. It is really kind of you to enquire.”

Peter huffed and turned his gaze back to the ground, for a mere instant, before looking back up to her, knowing and, somehow, understanding. “Perfectly alright, huh? I’ll gather you’ll change your mind if you stay hidden in there, and I can’t have that happen.”

He kept on looking at her, as if expecting something, but Wendy could barely make sense of it. She blinked slowly at him, at his intent and decided stare, and felt herself beginning to panic – what should she say? What did he want? What should she do? He was the one who had been angry, and rightfully so, that she had disobeyed him. Was she forgiven? Was it forgotten? Then, Peter extended his hand, and Wendy felt like it was her answer. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s something you’ll like to see.”

Wendy felt at a loss for a moment: she had been readying herself for bed, and it was Peter asking her to come with him somewhere, but night had already started to fall, and she didn’t want to displease him, before she smiled and nodded shyly up at him. She wanted to see what he wanted to show her, and swiftly turned, put the comb in her hair and took his offered hand.

She followed him through unknown paths, her heart beating loudly in her ears as she looked all around, gasping at the way the vegetation seemed to part in front of him and delighting in the fact that he still hadn’t let go of her hand. The island which had seemed so scary those past nights, where dark shadows had mingled with the gutting cries of the Boys, now was quiet and peaceful.

And safe.

There was only them around, but Wendy didn’t want to spoil the moment by enquiring about the Boys. Peter seemed uncaring of them, and so was she.

“Where are we going?” she asked softly, as a soft blowing of wind made the leaves rustle all around them.

“Have patience, Bird. We’re almost there,” Peter added and quickened his steps, as if he were the impatient one, “and you’ll like it, I promise.”

They continued to walk, hand in hand, until they arrived at a glade Wendy had never been before. In fact, if her feet and her memory weren’t betraying her, she had never gone to this part of Neverland before.

“There,” Peter said softly, the hand that wasn’t holding hers moving to point at something Wendy couldn’t yet see. “Do you see that tree, over there?”

Wendy approached closer to him, gasping when she noticed what he was showing her. “I do.” Of course she did. Her eyes had been drawn to it the moment she had turned them away from her companion. There was no mistake to be made, even though they were quite literally surrounded by trees, only one was special. Only one glowed.

Her mouth parted, Wendy took a few steps forward. The light appeared to come from the inside of the tree and the more Wendy looked, the shiner it turned, until she could still see spots of light even as she blinked.

“The fairies hold a ball, tonight,” Peter whispered near her ear, and Wendy gasped again at the words. A ball. A fairy’s ball. She turned around to face him, not even noticing her hand left his as she did so. His face was half-shadowed, the far-off light of the fairies turning it a soft yellow, the way the evening sun would. “Would you like to see?”

“Oh, I would love to.” She nodded eagerly in addition to her words, even forgetting the previous whispered tone of their conversation in favor of a more excited one, that best capture the growing delight she felt in her chest. Delight at seeing a fairy’s ball, but delight at being here with him, also.

Peter’s eyes turned proud and he took back her hand in his, tugging her gently along till they reached the tree. “Here,” he said, still speaking low, barely loud enough for her to hear. He had crouched in the grass and Wendy imitated him, her eyes blinking hard when she looked straight where Peter pointed, until the light wasn’t blinding her anymore.

He had lifted a decaying piece of bark so that she could take a glimpse of what happened inside the tree. There was no wood, and instead it was a hollow tree, just like the one that towered over the camp, and the ones that led to the cavern underground. This one, however, didn’t lead anywhere. It was obviously where the ball was taking place and, as her eyes got used to the multiple spots of bright light, Wendy distinguished small beings at the center of each glow, and she shuffled closer to the small window Peter had created, gasping softly.

Her eyes followed a fairy moving slowly in the middle of a larger circle of other gathered fairies. She took in her wings, four of them and standing straight and at a right angle from her body, her dress which seemed to be made of leaves sewed together, each of them a different color, her hair done in a bun, with blond ringlets falling out of it, just like Tinkerbell’s had been, and with, on top of her head, shining in itself, the most beautiful tiara she had ever seen…

“Oh Peter,” she whispered as her eyes widened, unwavering from the fairy, “see the one in the middle? the one wearing a crown? Is she a fairy princess?”

She felt Peter move closer. “She’s their queen.”

“Their queen,” she repeated to herself, as she followed her with her eyes, watched her swirl and her arms move gracefully up and around herself. That made sense, she decided, that she would be their queen. Wendy didn’t think any other being could ever be more beautiful, even wearing a dress of leaves. She was entranced with the queen’s dance, so accorded to the soft music that came from somewhere inside the tree, and the way the numerous jewels of her crown shone with the respective glows of what must be the fairy court. “Do you know her well?” She was sure he did. After all, Neverland was his island, every single bit of it, he must have given them his permission to throw a ball.

“I do.”

“As much as you do Tinkerbell?” Her voice, when she spoke the name, was tentative, not wanting to bring back unpleasant recalls. Yet their very presence here was the result of his promise he had made to her, on that fateful day.

“No, not as much.”

Nodding, her eyes still followed the queen as she flew higher, almost to eye level. “So, she is your favorite fairy, then?”

She heard his light, airy scoff, which made her lips twitch into a smile as she darted a look to her right, hiding the most of it behind her hair. Peter wasn’t looking at her, though, and so she freely observed him at length. His eyes were lost in front of him, his lips slightly pouting as if he was immersed in unpleasant memories.

Wendy’s own looked down, to his hands, one laying on his lap and the other on the soft grass, next to her. A surge of bravery, of wanting to comfort him out of sad thoughts took hold of her, and she let her hand fall, resting not far from his, as her heart soared in her chest.

“Well, of course, it would be shocking to have favorites,” he said, and his eyes when she turned to look in them, were teasing, and brought back her smile, albeit shyly so. “I’m sure you’d agree with me. Yet, I suppose Tinkerbell is my own, just like Michael is for you.”

“You thought I was lying, when I told you Michael isn’t my favorite,” Wendy pointed out, for lack of better things to say. Her belly was in knots and her head was lost; in some place she couldn’t find.

She made a little startled jump when Peter’s gaze switched to her again, and didn’t leave this time. She found herself stunned under his gaze, the intensity of it, so much that she nearly forgot where she was sitting, and what other wonder was happening currently.

Until Peter moved to stand up, and Wendy realized with sorrow that it meant the moment was over and that she was to go back to her treehouse. In a last attempt to make it last a little bit longer, she jerked her head back to the dancing fairies, trying to find something, another question, another remark to keep them here. But before she could think of one, she felt Peter’s hand brush against her shoulder, and she had no excuse anymore.

He carefully pulled down the piece of bark he had been holding up all this time, to allow them to see more clearly, as she raised to her feet, her legs wobbly. He held out a hand. “Would you care for a dance?” he asked, and she swore she remained breathless for a moment, staring up at his eyes in stupefaction.

Still, once the words etched themselves in her mind forever, she took his hand with more confidence than she was currently feeling, murmuring “Of course,” and feeling as if she was about to burst.

He pulled her away from the tree, but not so far that they couldn’t hear the enchanting music. Her mind was swimming in an ocean of delight and doubt, for she had never attended any party, never danced with anyone – except when her grandma had taught her, when she had been a little girl, and once or twice, with A… with… her friend, the one sitting next to her at school.

But this already felt quite different, indeed.

They faced each other, she with her hands hidden within the sides of her skirt and her heart hammering against her chest, and him with his head tilted on one side and his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were pondering something. Wendy tried to swallow, hoping he hadn’t already changed his mind – which happened sometimes, to her puzzlement, his decisions shifting entirely and him acting as if he had never tugged her toward some place that still remained mysterious, or that he hadn’t started a sentence he would never finish, always acting as if he had found something much better to do, or say.

Though she imagined puzzlement would be the best option should Peter’s face break into a smile at this very moment. But the brief worry disappeared the second Peter lost his frown and bowed; one arm bent behind his back. Wendy sighed with relief and curtseyed in turn: this, she knew. She had pictured this moment happening a thousand times.

Though she would never have imagined it happening under the starry sky, with fairy music filling the air, and with for only light the white glow of the moon and the warm one of the fairies. This went beyond her wildest dreams.

Her hand didn’t shake when she lifted it and, when Peter’s had found their rightful places and hers theirs, held so steadily, her feet remembered the steps so easily, that her worry was forgotten.

Wendy had to bit the inside of her cheek harder to keep herself from beaming as they danced, though she thought it wasn’t doing much good. Her eyes kept switching between the forest around, their hands holding, her own on Peter’s shoulder, Peter’s face, Peter’s smile, Peter’s eyes, Peter’s…

Peter, who slowed down and started to hover about the ground, breaking their embrace- their dance, Wendy amended, though she had never been held this close to someone before, especially not to a boy she liked.

She swiftly lowered her head and averted her eyes, lest he see her disappointment at the little hopeful feeling that had started to build up in her dwindling back to a small prickling at the back of her head.

Peter tsked. “That sullen look won’t do for the rest.” His hand came to her chin, intent to raise it back to its previous position, but his words had the desired effect before he did so.

“The rest?”

“Unless you want to go back?” It was Peter’s turn to frown, as if the idea of parting didn’t even occur to him.

“No, no!” Wendy’s palms rose in front of her. “I don’t,” she added, to be sure.

“Good. I need you happy if you want to learn how to fly.”

“To… fly? You’re to teach me to fly right now?”

Peter spread his arms wide. “Don’t you want to? Have you changed your mind?” His smile had turned back to a teasing one, and Wendy thought back to the very beginning, where she had nagged every Boy – since Peter had told her one day and she had thought it an appropriate surprise – and it had apparently been reported to him.

“I haven’t.” The assurance sounded more like a protest, but Peter’s smile lost its teasing edges. “I want to fly.”

He nodded and beckoned her closer. “You have to believe that you can,” he said, looking at her straight in the eyes and his eyebrows slightly raised.

“And fairy dust, you said.” She believed; she was sure of it. She had already flown once, and it had been the easiest thing in the world.

“Yes, but fairy dust won’t be of any use if you don’t believe. Otherwise, we’d spent all our time flying.”

That made her stop and actually consider his words. “What do you mean? Can’t you just take the fairy dust off?” She pointed at the small vial he kept around his neck.

“It’s a one-time-thing, the fairy dust,” Peter explained. “Once you’re touched by it, the magic stays with you forever.”

“Forever?” Her face beamed in wonder and she bounced on the balls of her feet as she watched him open the vial and spill glowing green dust into the palm of his hand.

“Forever.” Peter’s eyes crinkled as he raised his cupped hand to his mouth and blew the dust on her face.

Wendy blinked, her heart racing as she waited for the fairy dust to do… something. When nothing happened for a few seconds, dread settled in her belly. What if… what if she couldn’t fly. What if everyone could and not her?

“Remember,” Peter’s voice came through her worry and she did. He had told her that fairy dust would make her fly, so it would. He sure looked confident enough, and it swiftly became hers. His presence next to her was making her believe she could create mountains, or fly, if he believed she could. The corners of her mouth turned back up and Wendy nodded, feeling like a weight was lifted from her chest.

Her trust seemed to please him, for he smiled in turn, then pointedly looked down then back to her. Her brows furrowing slightly, she imitated him. She looked down at her feet and gasped when she saw them not touching the ground, as the realization that she was indeed flying, flying with Peter who had moved up at the same time she did, made the ground even farther away.

Their hands found their places again, and soon they were dancing once more, but this time surrounded by the stars instead of under them. Soon, fairies joined them, but Wendy didn’t pay them as much attention as she would have, under different circumstances, she was sure. No, she was losing herself, gazing not at the fairies, nor at the dazzling sky, nor at the thrilling way her feet and whole body were above ground, but at Peter, at the most special boy who was currently holding her close and waltzing with her in a way that left her breathless and dazed.

She didn’t notice until she felt one of her leg brush against his that they had been getting closer – she didn’t know either if it was on her or on him – but the small movement sent a shiver up her spine and made her startle simultaneously. Her eyes shot up to Peter’s, awaiting to see if this was it, the moment where the spell would be broken, where the moment would be over and the night turn into dawn, where everything would be as if it never happened. Wendy bit her lip as she felt tears well up in her eyes; she didn’t want to forget any of this, yet she feared she would be forced to.

“What’s wrong?” Peter’s hand briefly left its place on her back to raise to her face, hovering near her cheek but not touching it while Wendy was working up the courage to lean her cheek into it. Its absence on her back was felt and she couldn’t hold back a shiver. “What do you remember?” His voice and eyes were soft with concern, but not with the tender affection she hoped to see.

“That this is going to end,” she confessed, her voice deeper than she was used to, and it surprised her, in some little space at the back of her mind. “Even though I wish it wouldn’t.” She had quite come down back to earth again, and was now hovering less than her height above ground.

“It won’t.”

Wendy almost smiled with how certain he sounded. “You have no idea what I’m talking about,” she pointed out, reluctantly, in a voice so low she could barely hear herself.

“I do.” His hand moved to her chin as his head lowered to look at her, making his own feet surely brush the tip of the grass. He was so close, they were standing so close that it made her feel dizzy, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as he kept on looking at her. “Don’t be sad, Wendy, because this is never going to end,” he said, promised. “It cannot.”

She felt the beginning of a smile curl up at the corner of her lips, her heart trying to regain a normal rhythm after the time it had hammered with the way Peter had pronounced her name. His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb brushed against it gently despite the roughness of the skin that she sensed more than the few occasions where they had held hands.

“How so?”

Somehow, although she had always imagined she would, she felt no fear when his face moved even closer to her own tilted one, stopping just shy of them touching as her eyes had started to switch between his own, which brimmed with what she thought was uncertainty, and his slightly parted lips. She was the one to cross those last millimeters that separated them and lightly brush her lips against his, her eyes squeezed shut and her cheeks burning.

She leaned back, not far, for she didn’t want to dislodge his hand from her cheek, and opened her eyes to gauge his reaction. Wendy didn’t know if she should stay or flee. Her lips were tingling, and her cheeks were hurting with the attempt at concealing her smile, but all of this faded away while she tried to know Peter’s thoughts, for his face was unreadable, cautiousness mixing with giddiness and a thousand of other emotions Wendy couldn’t read.

She only hoped he didn’t find her too brazen.

She finally got her answer when he leaned forward as she had leaned back, and his lips pressed against hers, once again, and she felt sheer joy soar within her chest. Pure, utter joy, more powerful than she had ever felt. Her hands came to take hold of his arms in an instinct Wendy couldn’t fully analyze as their lips moved against each other, first tentatively, heart pounding, then with confidence growing with every graze and brush, but heart still pounding all the same.

Sometimes, Wendy’s smile would turn too great, and the kiss would break under soft giggles, only to begin anew, more pressing, more urging than Wendy had ever imagined a kiss could be; her previous high having been established by the precedent one they had exchanged. While her hands stayed put, only clutching rather than holding on his arms every now and then, his were roaming from her cheek to her back and back again, stroking along her hair, grabbing her shoulder and grazing at the skin of her throat and making her head spin.

Yet she loved it. She loved that breathtaking feeling of being completely lost yet being steadily held on to. She loved the way her mind was jumping from thought to thought yet remained blank. She loved the way she felt his hands burning her and the little sighs he made through his nose, that tickled her when they hit her skin. She loved everything and she loved him.

Yes, she thought as she finally felt daring enough to let one of her hand move up his arm to grasp and play with his hair, I do love him. It was an evidence, and it emboldened her, made something tighten in her belly as her smile broke the kiss once more.

This time she leaned back, just a little for his arms embraced her almost immediately, preventing her from doing so too much, and opened her eyes. Her mouth parted as she gazed upon him in awe. Her love. His eyes were squeezed shut and his brows turned smooth. His skin was glowing with fairy light that seemed to come from him, and Wendy had to touch him. She lifted a trembling hand to his cheek and gently cupped it, a stark contrast to her other one that was twisted in his hair.

Trembling, her heart pounding and her mouth dry, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek, murmured his name and watched as he frowned and his jaw clenched as if he were hurt. She felt his fingers press harder at her lower back before he surged forward. Wendy gasped as his lips caught her parted ones and she felt his tongue lick at them. Her last thought was of how peculiar the idea was, but then the sensation turned from scary to merely unfamiliar but interesting, and Wendy’s lids dropped on their own volition.

The mild tightening of nerves she had felt before came back tenfold in her belly, enhanced with every brush of Peter’s tongue on her lips and then, when he tilted her head a certain way, against her own. It brought a warmth with it, a scorching heat that threatened to swallow her whole. She had stopped breathing altogether, she didn’t need to anymore. She could feel herself rising up and up and up as the wind began to blow so strongly Peter’s arms were the only thing keeping her from being carried away.


	18. Dancing for Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!

Beaming, lips tingling and heart pounding with the remnant memory of exchanged kisses, feeling lighter than a feather, she was truly struggling to keep her feet on the ground. It had always seemed so easy when Peter flew for a moment and then would come down and walk or run with the others, that Wendy had never imagined it could be this arduous to remain down-to-earth.

Peter’s hand holding hers was the only thing that prevented her from flying too high, and the thought brought another giggle past her lips, as he walked her back to her treehouse.

She blinked once again the sleep from her eyes which threatened to lull her even though she felt ever so excited to rest. And she was rather sure the blooming flowers here and there on the path were her doing, and not an unprecedented specificity of the island, which would start to sprout flowers when one was feeling this happy. All result of the happiness of the past minutes, hours – oh, she hoped it had been hours – and a testimony of how she didn’t want the moment to end.

Yet it seemed so soon when she glimpsed the familiar shadow of her tree, the only perk brought by the evening ending was that her feet touched the grass without any deliberate effort on her part for the first time since Peter had shown her how not to.

She sighed softly as her feet slowed down and she folded her hands together. They had exchanged a few sentences here and there while they walked, but now that time had come to say goodnight, Wendy found herself tongue-tied. She faltered when she climbed the first step, her nerves urging her to go back to her bed while her courtesy insisted she said something.

Peter’s hands shot up to her waist to prevent her from falling, and she had no choice but turn around and face him. And the small fluttering feeling came back, the inevitable indeed happened, and Wendy tilted her body closer and softly kissed him once more, without any other sound than her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.

As they broke apart, their foreheads leaning together, she saw his eyes gleam in the moonlight, so close to hers they looked like her entire world. Their noses brushed and Wendy’s hands clenched around nothing, for lack of pulling him for another kiss.

It was time to part, however, if not for a few hours only. It would pass quickly, just the time to blink and it would be morning again, and she would see him again. On and on, forever, as Peter had promised her.

“Goodnight, Peter,” she whispered, the words tasting sweet on her tongue despite what could be understood as a saddening meaning.

He nodded minutely and took a step back, returning her goodnight with a soft voice. She felt his gaze on her as she turned around and climbed to her house, her palms immediately coming to rest against her heart as she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and licking her lips, basking in the warmth of the fresh memories.

A kiss.

She had kissed him, her, Wendy, and then he had kissed her, and it had been wonderful. Perfect. Better than she had ever thought a kiss would be, better than what stories or friends told about it.

Eyes opening, Wendy rushed to her bed and buried her face in her pillow, her arms coming around it and squeezing it with all her strength as she giggled against the fluffy cotton, muffling the sounds in case Peter hadn’t still left.

Her heart felt full, and her cheeks were starting to truly ache from how much, how wide she was smiling, but Wendy couldn’t care.

Her body remained restless until dawn, her mind bursting and spinning with thoughts and wonders and Peter, never departing of her elation, sometimes realizing she was floating above her mattress, and finally falling asleep, despite not feeling exhausted at all.

Wendy woke up with the smile still on her lips, that following morning, at the first jolly chirps of the birds, which matched her mood. She hummed a jolly tune while brushing her hair and unwrinkled her dress, beaming at her reflection in her mirror. She had attempted to do a new hairstyle, one she remembered Mother used to do, and had carefully tucked the comb Peter had given her in her hair, while wondering if wearing a wildflower crown on that fateful day would do. Surely London’s good society would not mind very much.

Wendy’s reflection frowned at her at the thought they would and then her face lightened with her next one.

All of London’s good society would see her, in her white and cream wedding gown, with pink ribbons and lilies in her hands – or, no, she’d rather have roses and tulips she decided on a whim – and wearing a wildflower crown, and all of London’s good society would be in awe of her definitely modern and flamboyant touch. In the following months, she would see more and more brides doing so, and Peter and she would chuckle under their breaths and he’d tell her she wore it best of all, of course.

Satisfied with the London good society’s reaction at last, Wendy glanced one last time in the mirror, twirled for good measure, and peeked out of her treehouse. She let out a breathy giggle as her feet got off the ground with every two steps and ran to the camp.

Nibs was there, talking about having seen Tinkerbell around, looking for Peter, as he remembered she had been looking for the fairy the past days.

“It has been several days since I’ve stopped, though,” she babbled absentmindedly, not noticing Nibs’ crestfallen look until Slightly elbowed her out of the way. “Oh. I’m sorry, Nibs. I’ve got… other things in my mind, today, that is all. I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve helped me a lot, with looking for her, and it was kind of you to, but I don’t need to talk to her this urgently anymore.”

“It’s fine. I just thought it was,” he frowned, taking some time to put his thoughts in order, “good, that you two talk. She’s not really happy you’re here.”

“If she’s not, I suppose you’re right, and we should.” There were little else than she’d dread, but if Peter was here too… Though she wasn’t sure she’d want Peter to be caught between the two of them. though there were no need to believe any meeting would finish badly, as Wendy had nothing at all against Tinkerbell herself and, in fact, was determined to make herself liked by the fairy.

Or, if not liked, at least accepted.

“No.” But it was another voice who answered instead, sounding as harsh and curt as Wendy remembered it, although she only heard a couple of words thrown at her, more than spoken to her.

“Tink! Did you find Peter, after all?”

“You talked to Peter?” Wendy asked, as well, struggling not to show the grimace that threatened to appear on her face. She viciously hoped she hadn’t been the main concern of the conversation but, if she could judge by Tinkerbell’s closed expression and the crossing of her arms as she walked to her, it hadn’t been the case.

“I did, thanks Nibs. As for us, I think we should talk indeed. Follow me.”

Gulping, Wendy made a sign for Curly and the Twins, who had stood to attention and offered to escort their mother anywhere she’d like, to remain seated, feeling her cheeks burn at the incredulous glare Tinkerbell threw her way.

“Their… mother?” she inquired, once they were out of earshot from everyone in the camp. “They’re not your children.”

“I know. This is but a game.” Tinkerbell snorted, though it made Wendy lift her chin up, slightly. “These boys miss their parents, every night they cry for them. They don’t during the day, but it doesn’t mean they stop missing them.”

Her retort, instead of lighting the fire burning right under Tinkerbell’s skin, softened it as if it had merely been a candle Wendy had blown out.

The fairy said nothing, only watched her intently, slowly moving in a circle around her as Wendy struggled not to squirm.

“Was there something you wished to tell me?”

“You’re the one who said we should talk first.”

“Only because you… you talked with Peter. Did you two talk about me?”

Tinkerbell muttered something that sounded like ‘rather hard not to’ under her breath, too low for Wendy to be certain, and so she chose not to mention it.

“We did. And I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him, and hope maybe girls do are cleverer than boys, and listen. You shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what he said to make you stay, and I don’t know what changed, but this didn’t. This will only hurt you,” she added before Wendy could retort anything, “and, from what I’ve just seen, this will hurt everyone else if you two keep on that path.”

“What path?” She chuckled. They loved each other, they had just kissed the previous night. Love wasn’t path where anyone ended up hurt. Especially not in stories, and Wendy felt like she was living one, now more than ever. “Love?”

“It’s not something he wishes from you.”

“Of course it is. It may be unbecoming for him to say it aloud, but it must be. And he has it. I swear, Tinkerbell, I do-”

“Don’t say that. You can’t. He promised me he wouldn’t- You have no idea what he’s feeling toward you.”

“Fine,” she pretended to grant. “What is it? Why should I leave when I have no want to? What is that hurt that shall befall on everyone if I stay?”

As she had expected, Tinkerbell’s face twisted in a wince, her hands fidgeting and her shoulders hunching. “I can’t tell you why. He’s my friend. But you have to trust me. Leave. Ask him to take you back to the Land you come from, he might even accept. Go back where you came from, before it’s too late, and try to forget about any of this. This is the best outcome in your situation.”

“I’m sorry, then, but I won’t. I don’t want to leave, and I trust him. I trust Peter, with all my heart.”

“You shouldn’t.”

But that last warning was useless, and Tinkerbell ended up shaking her head to herself, muttering about having to go, and sighing, seeing in Wendy’s eyes that nothing she could say or do would change her mind, and flying away.

She, on the other hand, was left confused as she wandered around the forest. The fairy’s words and attitude made no sense at all, and she even contradicted herself, when she spoke of change. _I don’t know what changed_ , she had said. It was proof that, whatever reserves the fairy might have had, when they had first been introduced to each other, something had changed, something that should make those reserves disappear as well.

All Wendy could think about, to explain Tinkerbell’s words and behavior, was that she was looking out for her friend, as she had reminded Wendy Peter was. Making sure Wendy wouldn’t leave on a spur, as everyone here seemed to be scared she would.

The knowledge, as much as definitely made her heart ache, also lifted a weight of her chest, and prevented it from settling back, no matter what would happen, Wendy believed. She had no intention at all to ever leave any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tinkerbell's loyalty and reason are pulling her in different directions, and so she ends up stuck in a strange middle ground, trying to warn Wendy off, but not really. Not that it would work, anyway... At least she tried, right?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter :)  
> Next week, the POV will change for a long-needed chapter in Peter's head. We'll get to see what might have "changed"...


	19. The Courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new (long) chapter in Peter's POV where he's being a fool :)

Peter’s day had started with a light foot and a wide grin and, no matter the discussion he had with Tinkerbell early in the morning, he hadn’t departed from it one second. He understood his friend was worried, but there was frankly nothing to be scared for. Everything was perfect.

Admittedly, he had been a bit surprised when his Shadow had brought Wendy here, months and months after sending it to the Land Without Magic with the order of bringing back a girl, with her looking or behaving nothing like he had anticipated or imagined. Sure, he had needed a plain girl – not a fairy, not a princess, not anyone whose blood was remotely special or magical – but to have his wish brought tangibly in front of him had been a small shock.

A young girl, with long and wavy hair, a frilly, spotless white nightdress with puffy sleeves and something that looked like embroidery at the bottom, looking and speaking and behaving way too sophistically for him, not knowing how to fight or looking interested in learning how to had been nothing like he had expected.

There, he had understood Tinkerbell’s worry. Not that he ever thought the baby would particularly need its mother to survive and grow enough for its heart to be ready for Fiona to have – he himself hadn’t, nor had the majority of the Lost Boys – but there had been the question of actually making that baby. The idea had already been the part of Peter’s plan he had dwelled on the least, feeling queasy at the mere thought of laying one finger on a girl who wasn’t Fiona, but there he needed to court her first.

A girl dressed like that would never jump straight into bed with him.

Truly, at that time, he had seriously wondered what his Shadow had been thinking, to pick out that one, and had mulled over it during the entire first night she had spent on Neverland, while guarding her treehouse. As soon as dawn had broken and he had felt she wouldn’t mind were she to wake up and not see him still keeping watch, he had flown to his tree – his and Fiona’s – and summoned the Shadow, ordering it to take that one back and bring him a better one.

The Shadow, against all expectations, pointedly refused, and Peter didn’t understood why until the following morning.

Her brother.

The boy on the drawing looked like her brother, and now everything made sense. The Shadow must have seen her brother first, and recognized the apparently obvious likeness to the new Truest Believer, and had looked then for a sister.

That little piece of information had changed everything, and Peter had gritted his teeth and got on with the task. Wendy might be weak and mellow and plain, but she was the source of the next Truest Believer, and the longer she would refuse to welcome him in her bed, the longer it would be until Peter could find his love back.

Of course, he thought it would have been better, easier on him if the girl he had needed had been as promiscuous as Wendy wasn’t. Just as if her looks and attitude would suit his taste better when Wendy’s didn’t, but he had the ultimate proof he could ever wish for, and not much choice. He wanted Fiona back, he wanted her to love him again, and would do anything for it.

Their visit to Tinkerbell and her anger over the girl’s youth – which, to be frank, had been the only upside Peter had found her possessing, this and how healthy she looked like, and how nice she smelled – had been what he had silently waited for. An excuse to step back and mull over his plight.

To have the girl here, within his reach, removed any lasting forced patience and waiting out. She was here, he needed to take her. Then, the baby. Then, Fiona. He had never been this close, yet Peter found himself reluctant. Tentative.

Thinking, ‘I’ll seduce her today, tonight she will be mine’ in the morning only to avoid getting too close to her during the day.

He observed her, instead. At first, it had been just a quick glance, not thinking much about it, but the quick glance swiftly become two, three, and then transformed itself in casual stares and then meticulous observation.

He couldn’t help himself.

He needed to, he reminded himself often, in order to notice her quirks and habits and elaborate the best plan to seduce her. He couldn’t afford to make any mistake. When the time would come, Peter needed to do everything perfectly. Failure was not an option.

Against all odds, though, Wendy Darling had been interesting to observe.

There was something about her, something soft and sweet in the way she moved and talked to the other Boys, especially Curly and Tootles, that was entrancing, and hard to look away from.

She didn’t have to do everything she did, this went without saying, although he had reminded her so several times. Yet she did a lot: playing with them, soothing and calming them when a fight erupted from nowhere in less time than Peter had ever needed, telling them as much and many stories as they asked for, some Peter thought he recalled, others drawn straight from her imagination. Stories of adventures about heroes, companions and quests to be resolved. Hilarious ones and love stories, too…

Anyway. He pressed his mouth in a thin line, smoothing flat the corners that had begun to curl up at the memory.

She was… interesting. Fine.

Her obvious wonder about Neverland and everything within the island had been hard to miss, too. And hard to dislike as well, he could admit it. Lost Boys were usually in awe of the world, but never showed it to that extent. And so Peter had found himself relishing, basking, and approving the obvious enchantment written all over Wendy’s features. The girl wore her emotions on her sleeve and, instead of finding it bothersome, or a sign of weakness, Peter’s thoughts had shifted to admiration.

The more he thought about it, the more he observed, the less he deemed Wendy Darling weak. Sure, she was particularly on the small side of her height, liked wearing dresses rather than more suitable clothes to the forest, and didn’t fight even to save herself. But this didn’t merit disregarding her.

On the contrary, it showed how high she held him in her esteem, when she agreed to jump off the cliff, or trusted him to pull her out of the waters, or to fight off the pirates when the two of them had happened on some by chance, that one time. Besides, anyone who’d wish this much to learn how to fly while being attacked as she had been for her first fly could only be fearless, even if it was just in their own way.

So interesting that, even when he had caved in and began his courtship, heart thrumming at the idea of seeing Fiona soon, of course, he had still delayed and delayed the fateful moment.

They had grown close, closer, and her eyes had gleamed and darted at him when she thought he couldn’t see, her cheeks had flushed, and Peter knew he could have pushed for a bit more. Could have flown behind her when he walked her back to her treehouse every night. Could have stolen a kiss and then pushed her on her bed and then…

Well, even if she would have been a bit skittish at first, he gathered she wouldn’t have resisted long.

In the end, though, this had only been supposition, for he had never followed her inside, no matter that, the more the courtship advanced, the less queasy he was feeling, when he happened to catch a glimpse of the puffy sleeves, the white embroidery and light pristine cloth.

She loved Neverland, loved the Lost Boys who returned the feeling with more enthusiasm than Peter ever expected them to have, despite none of them – except Rufio – knowing her presence amongst them had been anything but a mistake.

No, really, she was perfect. A good choice, besides being the sister of a boy who looked a lot like The Boy.

Peter couldn’t picture anyone else, any other girl in her place. None of them would smile this way, or have such soft-looking hair, or look at him so trustingly. And the way she talked about her brothers, back in the Land Without Magic, with fondness and missing them greatly. The way she talked about not having favorites, about loving everyone the same, without needing to fight for it, to earn it. The way she was loving, yet fiercely so, gentle and kind.

She was an evidence, and so he began to quietly rearrange his plans for the future.

Perhaps instead of sending her back as soon as the boy would be born, she could stay. Stay here, with them, on Neverland. Keep on playing her games with the Boys, or tell them stories, even with Fiona back here as well. Be like a sister to them, to him. Keep on pretending to be Curly’s mother if she wished so, though that particular trait of hers remained befuddling to Peter to this day, and complete the family.

Or… or even without Fiona.

The more he thought about it, the more he recalled Fiona would probably not wish to stay all the time with them, in Neverland. So Fiona would get the boy’s heart, and would love him back, and all would be great. But, when she would leave, Wendy would stay and all would be as it currently was, except better.

Better because he would be able to kiss her. To touch her hair and hold her hand. To do everything he wanted without worrying about the next Truest Believer’s heart, since it would be Fiona’s already.

And Wendy would love him. Yes she would… she would love him.

Thus he had wanted to add on the reasons she would have to stay, then. The ones that would make sure she would love him. Fortunately, she had offered two to him, at the beginning: fairies and flying. The latter was only a matter of time, he had some fairy dust left and believed wholeheartedly that, if any human girl in the worlds could fly, it would be her. It was the former that bothered him. it was the former he could fail.

The first meeting to Tinkerbell had been disastrous, his friend pointblank refusing to play along and risking ruining everything. So, with this in mind, Peter knew he needed to strike even higher, harder, to make an impression and ensure she would want to stay, rather than being obligated to.

That last one was never fun.

Besides, he wanted her to want to be with him.

His problem, then, was that, except for Tinkerbell, no fairy had stepped a foot on Neverland, or talked to him, ever since they had discovered Fiona had been with child. So Peter had to move sky and earth to get fairies to return. Had tried to make himself invited to an audience with the Fairy Queen, and then convinced her to arrange a ball, while promising for his part to investigate about that stolen page in the Book of Prophecies and that seduced fairy who was supposed to guard it with her life.

When he had come back, all giddy from the newfound knowledge of Hook’s machinations to complete his end of their deal and from the one that Wendy would both attend a ball, which to her own admission she had never done but dreamed about, and meet the fairy court in its entirety, as the Queen had been delighted to know about him rescuing boys, making use of the power of his heart and having forgotten about seducing fairies to redirect his sights on a very human girl – that last one being slightly encouraged by Peter’s hints – Wendy hadn’t been in the camp.

No one had seen her for the last hours, no one knew where she was, with who, and for what. Neverland’s sky had darkened without Peter even noticing it, as he had begun pacing, raking his fingers through his hair, and trying to concentrate. Something felt wrong, and he hadn’t hesitated twice before flying to the lagoon, finding the waters unusually quiet and devoid of any mermaids, and dived down, following the tugging in his chest.

He had found her much further down the surface than he’d like, her eyes closed and her limbs floating, a mermaid’s claws anchored in her legs and dragging her deeper. Peter’s blood had gone up straight to his head, his vision had turned red and he didn’t stop to think before he had slashed the mermaid’s grip off and pulled Wendy out of their reaches, not even sparing a thought to Wiley.

The incident had immediately called into question the real importance of having a girl, apparently unable to respect her own promise and one single rule, while endangering the life of a Boy on top of it all, around. His reaction to it had, as well. The Boys went first, always. The Lost Boys were his family, and only Fiona should be part of it. Not any other girl.

But not there. He had noticed _Wendy’s_ absence, worried for _her_ safety, went looking for _her_ and saved _her_ first. It had puzzled him, and ordering her to stay away from him had been exactly what he had needed, at the time, to get his head back straight.

While staying away, he had still made sure of passing by her treehouse at least once a day, sometimes his feet taking him there without him noticing, or sometimes with the intention to. The tree where he usually managed to think best on had seemingly been replaced by the one facing her window.

He hadn’t been entirely certain how to approach her again, the small and kind girl he had known all those days having been replaced by a gigantic and unkind monster in his head, one who would shatter every bones of his body with a dainty flick of a hand and enraged eyes. Yet the fairies were to arrive at any time, now.

After a couple of days, however, he had found her laying on the ground, a leaf stuck in her hair and dirt scattered on her skirt, next to Curly as he had woken up one morning, and the ice had broken. The monster had disappeared at once and Peter, his confidence returning, prepared both the surprise he had planned, and the vengeance he needed to execute.

The result of the last one, she was wearing in her hair currently, and the sight of it was making Peter’s mouth curve into a smile and chest fill with pride. Last night already, she had looked at it with her eyes shining, holding it as one would the most precious of treasure while he knew she received daily ones from Curly, Fox, the Twins and Tootles, and immediately put it in her hair before following him outside.

It had been the great surprise awaited, and had perfectly unfolded. She had seen the Fairy Court, had witnessed the Queen dancing, had learnt how to fly and had danced as well, and in return had given him a kiss. Several ones, first fleeting and tentative, screaming of innocence, and then passionate ones, as he had felt an urgency taking hold of his being, so unlike the vivid memories he kept of Fiona’s.

And yet, and yet.

He hadn’t climbed those steps behind her.

Victory thrummed in his veins and tasted sweet like pears on his tongue, yet he had remained both feet on the ground, his hand lingering on the rail, his eyes on her slowly closing door, but not moving. Not following her back inside.

He hadn’t wanted to.

He had succeeded, the courtship was done and Wendy was his, the plan had worked and the last step was finally within reach, and he didn’t move except to walk back to camp, his feet barely grazing the grass.

Tomorrow, he had promised to himself before falling asleep, and Today he had thought first thing in the morning, as the sunrays had shone just a little bit brighter, the birds’ songs just a bit cheerier, the world around him just a bit more vibrant.

Fiona, it was because of Fiona, he reminded himself. It had been on the tip of his tongue as he had happened on Tinkerbell. His friend had noticed at once Neverland’s thriving, and all her considerations about the fairies’ ball of the previous day had flown from her mind as she had urged him to know if he had impregnated the girl.

“Be careful, Peter,” she had said countless times, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, as if he didn’t have the situation perfectly handled.

As if there were any other reason to his happiness than knowing Fiona’s return was coming closer. This, all this, was all for Fiona. It had only ever been, just like his love and care and life was hers.

“I don’t like this, you’ll end up being hurt. You should send her away before she starts getting too much power.”

Wendy, power? He had to hold himself back from scoffing out loud. The girl had none. He loved Fiona, and was working to get her back every minute of every day, by giving her the entire heart of his son, and its full power.

“What about you? You must be getting affected, Peter. Look around you.”

He had started to become slightly attached to the girl, but all was in control. Neverland was thriving, because Peter’s heart was overjoyed and glad to have his love, his true love, back to him soon.

“If you’re so sure…”

“I am,” he promised. His voice indeed sounded certain, earnest. Confident. All perfect. “Trust me. If I weren’t, I’d have acted on it on the very first second.”

This seemed to ease Tinkerbell’s biggest worries, and she walked back to camp to say goodbye to the Boys remaining there as Peter joined Rufio and Wiley back as well, picking up his crossbow and resuming training.

Everything was perfect, yes. His goal was finally, at last within reach, and the last reserves he might have had concerning that girl’s charm had disappeared. Wendy was perfect. She had nice hair, bright eyes, a kind smile and a soft look. An interesting sort of bravery, unwavering trust, amazing capacity of believing. She was fierce, caring, imaginative, cheerful.

And, ever since he had kissed her the past evening, he had thought of little else but to do so again. Thus, when he noticed her coming to him, Peter didn’t think twice, practically threw his crossbow away and strode to her, his face splitting with a grin and his bare feet grazing the top of the grass.

But Wendy’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes, which remained confused. Peter didn’t let worry settle in his chest, however. He knew exactly what to do to get her to smile again, had prepared it in case this very thing would happen.

He took her hand. “Come, I’ve got something to show you, Bird,” he said, leading her behind the trees and watching how her steps regained their usual lightness and her face its brightness. So easy. “Here.” He let go of her hand once they reached the looked-for tree before flying up, to where he knew the fairy was sleeping, took her in his hands and flew back to Wendy.

The fairy safely held woke up and started kicking his palm, demanding to know what was going on, the feeling not different from a ladybug running across one’s hand. Peter shushed her and gestured for Wendy to come closer, so that their leaning heads would shield the sun, allowing her to see better, before he opened his hands slightly.

He heard Wendy gasp, just like he had predicted she would. “A fairy?” she asked, her eyes stopping their squeezing at the bright glow. “She’s so pretty.” The fairy’s head jerked up to her, she shook her wings and Peter’s hands snapped shut, preventing her from flying away. A miffed, angry jingling sound came from inside at being hidden from the other, more appreciative, beauty connoisseur human, making Wendy’s brows furrow. “Is she… playing music?” Wendy asked, startled.

Peter snorted. “She’s talking,” he explained, slowly opening his hands back. “She doesn’t like me hiding her from view. I thought she was going to fly off.” Once the fairy realized she was watched and once more admired, she stopped her foot stomping and started moving her arms up, making her wings glimmer as she slowly twirled. “She liked you calling her pretty.”

“Well, I am only saying the simple truth,” Wendy whispered, blinking as the fairy’s glow shone brighter until she turned her eyes to him, their gaze catching and never averting, the same urge Peter had felt yesterday came back.

This time, however, there was nothing to stop him. The corners of her mouth were curved upward, and, when he slowly moved his head closer, barely paying attention to the disquieted remarks of the fairy who flew away once she stopped being the center of attention, Wendy moved forward as well until their lips met as they had the previous night. Warmth poured in his chest, and Peter lost himself in the kiss, his heart pounding harder and harder against his ribcage, as if he had just won the most important race of his existence.

And he had. She was here.

He held her in his arms, he felt her smile against his lips as they kissed, felt her pulse against his palm, the softness of her hair against his other, and the warmth of her body tucked against his. That was worth more than anything.

Suddenly, the diverse feelings became too much, and Peter had to break the kiss, not moving an inch farther than he had to, not wanting to, but needing to catch his breath. The pull was still there, demanding him to kiss her again, to be closer again.

With blurry eyes, he didn’t notice her frown at first, and it was only her soft, “Are you the one doing this?” that made him stop.

Doing what? He opened his mouth to ask before the answer dawned on him on its own. Silence.

Utter, eerie, absolute silence.

The birds had stopped to chirp, the far-off pounding of the waves had ceased to crash against the cliffs, the leaves to move, the island to breathe.

No. No he wasn’t the one doing that. Peter felt his heart began to tighten, his brows furrowed, yet the wind didn’t turn colder, didn’t blow stronger. Didn’t appear at all.

Instead, as the only sign that this wasn’t some kind of nightmare and the island was still attuned to Peter’s emotions and wants, the sun slowly began to disappear under dark, menacing clouds, appearing from nowhere, just as Peter’s growing panic.

If he wasn’t the one doing this, then… then… someone else was. His eyes fell on the girl still within his arms. Seeing without seeing the same confused look in her expression that he was also sporting and his heart gave a hard, painful squeeze.

_Send her away before she starts getting too much power_ , Tinkerbell’s advice, her sound, sound, sound advice echoed in his head, and so Peter pushed her away, as a loud, forceful gust of wind was thrown her way, making all the clouds disappear at once.

She couldn’t have any power at all. Neverland was his, his home, to him and the Lost Boys. His feet felt made of lead, and he slowly landed back on earth.

“Go,” he ordered. “You have to go.”

It was impossible to look at her for the moment, just enough time for him to gather back every strength, every force she had stolen from him. From Neverland. He saw her whip her head to him once she had regained her footing.

He could see it, now, see it plainly. How could he have missed it? The situation had been slowly slipping through his fingers, and he needed to get it back in his hands, and tightly grip it. And never let go.

Send her away. He didn’t need Wendy Darling.

He needed Fiona. Fiona was the one he loved, his true love, the one he wanted here. The one he needed here, with him.

Any girl could do. He didn’t need this one, he didn’t want this one.

Thus, he schooled his features in a decided look, and hardened them as if he readied himself for an attack. For a blow. Have her try, he thought spitefully, gritting his teeth and tightening his hands into fists. She’d get what would come for her. But Wendy didn’t come at him, didn’t move at all, only whispered, “What?”

“Go.”

The Shadow. He needed the Shadow.

“Are you… are you angry at me?”

Was he? If it would make her go faster, bring his Shadow here sooner, then, “Yes.”

Since it was the last time he would, Peter allowed himself to look at her. She blinked at him, her eyes seeming to gleam with tears – as if that trick would ever work with him, and there was another reason to send her away – and then lowered her head, breaking the eye contact. “Alright,” she said, in the smaller voice he had ever heard, “I’ll be in my treehouse.”

Before he could notice what he was doing and stop himself, his hand had snatched her arm and was gripping it forcefully. “No,” he snapped, though even himself didn’t know if it was against her declaration or to prevent her from leaving. But, no, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t stay. This was too dangerous. “I want you gone forever. You need to leave Neverland.”

He saw her eyes widening, and heard her breath hitching as her face visibly paled, giving her an almost sick look in the as well pale sunlight. “What? But P-Peter, I don’t want to leave. Wh-”

“Well, I want you to.”

Her brows creased. “This is not funny, Peter,” she said, though no harshness could be heard at all.

Weak, she was weak, giving him uncertainties to push at, and he didn’t need her here. Peter forced a smirk to appear, and rolled with the idea. “You think? I’ve found this ordeal a very funny one. But now it’s boring me, so I want you to go back where you come from, and out of my eyes.” His face had moved closer without him realizing, and he felt a surge of anger flow through his chest. Finally, his Shadow appeared. “And take your feelings with you,” he spat, lastly, ripping his hand away from her arm and making her stumble.

Straight to his Shadow’s reach. Good.

The finality of the situation seemed to finally reach her as his Shadow wrapped his hands around her arms, and her eyes turned pleading. “Wait, no!” she cried out. “I don’t want to leave!”

Looking away, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, Peter lifted his chin. “Take her away.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them take off the ground, before Wendy cried “Please!” and his Shadow stopped abruptly. Peter gawped at it, baffled it listened to someone who wasn’t him. Wendy’s gaze fell on the ground, which was truly not far at all if one wanted to jump, and Peter saw the very same idea cross her mind before a determined look took over.

“I said I want the girl gone,” Peter repeated, letting his real annoyance filter through his tone this time as he glared up at his Shadow, ignoring Wendy’s calls of his name. He would miss her, he could admit to himself, now that her feet weren’t touching Neverland’s soil, yet he refused to look at her. He didn’t need her. Didn’t want her, didn’t like her. “Now obey,” he added, before a solution dawned on him. “And take one of her brothers in her place. I’ll tell you the one.” So he would have someone to remember her by, and her to.

She needed to go away, but Peter didn’t want her to forget him. If dear, favorite Michael came to Neverland, Wendy would never forget.

Peter stumbled back to camp, not staying to look, his hand clutching at his chest and swallowing with difficulty.

In one breath, Tinkerbell was there, next to him, her hand coming to rest on his back in a comforting gesture, her face an obvious picture of concern. “What happened?”

“I sent her away,” he rasped, taking a second to witness Tinkerbell’s relieved face at the news. Yes, he did the right thing. He didn’t need her. “You were right. It’s best if I bring someone else. The Shadow will bring back Michael.”

The words his friend had been about to say died on her tongue, and she found her disapproving frown back. “You shouldn’t-”

“I know,” he bit back. “But I… I don’t want to forget her.” Michael had been her brother, the favorite, the one who was the most like her, she had said it herself. With him here, Peter was sure he would never forget the girl who had been brought here for a few months. “I have a right to. She’s gone. It doesn’t matter.”

Had crossed the border back to her world. The sensation was unfamiliar, as if a piece of his heart had left, but Peter had never lost a Lost Boy, then, before. It must be the same. He must have felt the same when Fiona had left. And Rumple.

“Alright. I suppose her brother here, instead of her, is the lesser of two evils.” He nodded, liking how certain she sounded.

The Lost Boys hurried to him once he stepped a foot, all sporting worried faces and holding their weapons. A thousand questions busted out of their lips at the same time, the main ones concerning the strange silence and storm that had appeared so suddenly. “It’s fine,” Peter assured them, “it’s fixed. Wendy’s gone.”

A long silence followed those words, until Fox spoke up. “Where to?”

“Where she came from.”

They all dispersed after that, finally leaving him blissfully alone although he wondered if he shouldn’t join them instead, without having the strength to. I did the right thing, I did the right thing. She was getting too powerful, Tink was right, he didn’t need this girl. Any other girl would do. It was Fiona he needed. Fiona he loved.

Fiona he… wanted back.

Fiona was his true love. He remembered so. He remembered the feelings, the elation and the… and the…

Peter was pulled out of his considerations when a hand tugged at the hem of his cloak.

Curly was looking up to him, his brows furrowed and his mouth pursed into a pout. “When is Mother coming back?”

The bark on which Peter had tried to find support crumbled under his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *narrative voice* And so that was the exact moment he realized he made a huge mistake...
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter! And the dive into Peter's thoughts and reasoning and self confidence.  
> I have to admit I'm rather curious of what you thought about it... :)
> 
> So, with Wendy rudely sent away, we're starting a new part of the story, where they're going to be apart for a time, which is well-needed. I hope you'll stick with the story through it (it's gonna be interesting, I promise)


	20. Only One Night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20th chapter already!  
> We're going to follow Wendy's POV and thoughts for the next couple of chapters. The latter part of this one includes some dialogue from OUAT 2x21, so if something appears familiar, it's normal. I added my little twist, however, compared to the series.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Her whole body shook from her sobs and, had the Shadow not held so tightly on her arm, Wendy was sure she would have fallen. She had no strength left in her, she had stopped struggling when they had started flying above the sea, for fear of falling and truly drowning this time, with no one to save her, and only cried and cried as Neverland blurred in front of her and then became narrower as the Shadow obeyed and took her away. “Please, don’t,” she said for the umpteenth time but, as for the precedent ones, the Shadow didn’t flinch, or even turn back to look at her. Another sob, stronger than the previous one, escaped her when the island disappeared from sight.

How could it be? What had happened? It couldn’t be the ending; it couldn’t end this way.

She still had no idea what to think. Peter had… and then she… and…

Everything blurred in her mind, the actions and pictures appearing before her eyes not making any sense.

Has it only be a game? Truly? No matter how much she thought about it, which wasn’t a lot, as the words were still as painful, leaving a gaping wound in her heart, she couldn’t believe it.

Not only the previous night and this morning, there had also be days and days spent in Peter’s company, absolutely free of any hatred, or any pretending. No, she couldn’t believe he had hated her all this time.

“Please,” she repeated, her voice turning urgent as they flew higher and higher and the last thing Neverland kept of Wendy was a sob and an unanswered plea.

The wind flew at her ears and, suddenly, the temperature changed, and Wendy shivered. Winter, yes, it had been winter when she had left. Gulping past another wave of sorrow, she lifted the hand that had been clenched in the thin cloth of her skirt and tried not to look down, for it would be London’s roofs she would see, and not the top of Neverland’s trees.

Not anymore.

It was daylight, and the roofs and houses were growing closer. She didn’t recall the journey being so short, and Wendy used her last strength to cling harder at the Shadow’s arm. “Please don’t take my brother. I’m sorry, I truly am, and I promise I won’t…” what. She didn’t remember anything she might have done wrong, but it didn’t matter; she didn’t want to leave Peter, she didn’t want him to hate her, but both had turned out true in the shortest amount of time. She didn’t understand what went wrong, “do it again, I promise. Please, take me back with you.”

She had regained control of herself as she spoke, and wiped the tears off her cheeks.

“That’s impossible,” the Shadow said, still not looking back at her, but at least it was talking.

“Why not?” she whined.

“Because he doesn’t want girls. He wants boys.” That was a lie, Wendy almost said, wanted to shout it at him, to fight back. He wants me there, he does, she knew it. Besides, there were Tinkerbell and all the other fairies, and even Tiger Lily. Why was it alright for those girls, and not for Wendy? “I’ll come back tonight,” the Shadow added, and Wendy wondered if Peter had changed his mind and was asking for her back, “for the boy.” Apparently still not.

“How long will you keep my brother?” she asked sullenly as they begun to come down, a hint of envy flicking through her tone at the thought that one of her brothers would get to go to Neverland when she wouldn’t. Would get to see and use its magic, meet and play with all the Boys, perhaps even join in when Wendy hadn’t. She hoped Peter wouldn’t be angry at her brother, whoever it ended up being, who would take her place.

Goodness, she hoped he wouldn’t ask them to go fight.

Wendy glanced below herself and her heart missed a beat when she saw the window giving to her room, to the nursery. Her room, her bed, her brothers and parents, she hadn’t noticed how much she had missed the sight of them. The window was open, and the Shadow lowered her carefully. Bae’s eyes blinked slowly open from where he had been sleeping, on the floor, with his head laying on his crossed arms, on the very spot she had herself spent so many nights…

Oh, it seemed such a long time ago, she thought, her heart squeezing as she felt the edge under her feet.

“Forever,” it whispered in her ear. Her head jerked up to the Shadow, who had almost turned invisible under the early morning sun. She couldn’t even see it anymore, as if no representation of Peter belonged in this world, this plain world without any magic in it. As if anything had only been a dream. Yet, she heard its words, spine-chilling words. “Once you set foot on Neverland, you can never leave. That’s the rule, Wendy Angela Moira Darling,” the Shadow whispered in that faint way he used to. Her eyes went round as she spluttered, a new onslaught of tears threatened to pass through as the Shadow let go of her arm and she felt herself truly come down.

Believe, she ordered herself, believe. But her feet never left the concrete.

Her story was over.

“It’s alright,” Wendy said, her voice shaking as she lifted her palms up. It was Bae, Bae was before her, springing to his feet and looking at her with wonder. “It’s just me.”

“Just…” He whispered, and this was her only warning before his arms encircled her and he squeezed her in a bone-breaking embrace.

Wendy frowned; her arms pressed to her sides by his own. Goodness, she hadn’t thought about this but… “How… How long was I gone?” she asked softly, her eyes darting to the other beds: John and Michael were sleeping in their respective places – was this their respective places? Had they grown up? Had she missed months, years?

“Just the night,” Bae murmured near her ear, still holding on to her as if she might have never come back.

“Just the night,” she mouthed, startled. Wendy wiggled her arms a bit and Bae broke his embrace. She stepped down to the floor, biting back a new flow of tears and lowering her head to hide it. This was so little… One night. “It feels like so much longer,” she murmured once she trusted her voice enough, her eyes darting between him, her brothers lying down unconscious and her own bed, waiting for her, looking exactly as she had left it. She sat on it, getting used to the differences with her other bed, the one she had slept in so many times it had replaced this one in her mind.

She wondered if it still existed, but then quickly discarded the thought. It probably didn’t. Peter had been so angry at her; he must have made it disappear as quickly as it had appeared and forgotten all about her already.

Just the night… Wendy closed her eyes for a moment. It must be the truth. It will be like a dream, she told herself, and now she had woken up.

“The time works differently in Neverland.”

If only one night had lasted… she didn’t know how long for her. Weeks? Months? Years perhaps perhaps? Time had flown, now that she was looking back at it, the way it tended to do when one was this happy. She had no idea exactly how much had passed for her, but she was glad it had been only one night for her brothers.

Her brothers, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them. They were sleeping, had no idea where their sister had been, John… She recalled John hadn’t even believed her, when the Shadow had come the first time, and then she had kept it a secret. Michael had, as for him, surely forgotten.

She couldn’t picture any of them leaving to Neverland. Especially not forever, she thought as another onslaught of tears threatened to fall out. She felt exhausted already, despite it being early morning, her head heavy from all the ones she had spilled and her heart aching.

Her parents were sleeping in the room by the end of the corridor. Aunt Millicent was sleeping too, in the guest room on the first floor. Wendy and her brothers had gone to bed horrified, the previous night, when they had overheard their parents talking about her leaving the nursery, her spending less time with her brothers.

It seemed so long ago, Wendy couldn’t bring back the outrage and fear she had felt, hearing she would have to grow up.

Now, she even wished for it happened sooner. Perhaps, once she would be a grown-up, she would forget anything that happened during that single night, attribute it to a childish dream.

“So,” Bae said, still speaking softly as to not wake up anyone. He sat down next to her and turned slightly to face her, his eyes oscillating between relief and curiosity. “What was it like over there?”

Wendy could feel the lump in her throat tightening at the words – over there, not here, for she wasn’t in Neverland anymore, Peter had sent her away, she didn’t even have time to say goodbye. But she couldn’t tell Bae this, she wouldn’t. The memories would stay hers; she would keep them close to her heart, preciously. Thus, she spoke about mermaids – failing to mention how not sweet they truly were – and fairies – again, keeping quiet about Tinkerbell’s ominous words, or the magic way she had witnessed them dance, and then had danced under starlight and kissed the most wonderful boy she had ever met.

She smiled at him, trying to show him how exciting her adventure had been, for it had to seem this way to him. An adventure. That was why she had left, she remembered, this and not wanting to grow up. She would grow up, but she would have this, her very own adventure, at least.

But then, Bae inquired about the reason she returned, and Wendy’s smile died down and she averted her eyes.

Why did she return? She didn’t want to, she never wanted to leave – how could anyone? Neverland was wonderful, the Lost Boys were the greatest companions one could ever dream of, there were magical creatures and the magic of the island itself, she had learnt to fly and…

“Because…” Wendy searched her mind for a reason, an excuse, and she found one. One Bae would understand, she was sure. She thought of that night, where she had been alone in her bed, too shameful to go out – Peter hadn’t wanted to see her again, then, and now she would truly never see him again, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Everything horrible found its way back to the forefront of her mind and erased everything lovely which lingered there. She thought of the dark forest, of the blood on the Boys’ hands after they went to fight the pirates or the Indians, of the two pirates who had almost happened on Peter and she, of the terrifying stories of Captain Hook and the uneasy feeling she had when she had walked near the Dream Cave, of the cries in the middle of the night, of Nibs, the Twins, Wiley who remembered their parents at night, of herself who had forgotten them, just like Curly had.

“When the night fell,” she continued, her voice turning wobbly until she could hardly speak, and her eyes trained on her hands. She couldn’t raise them to Bae, or to John and Michael. “That’s when all the children started to miss their parents. And they cried over the night.” She could still hear it, she hadn’t been able to, during the days on Neverland, but she did now.

“Why don’t they go home?”

“It won’t let them,” she said, quoting what the Shadow just told her, “that’s the reason it’s called Neverland. Once you set foot on Neverland, you can never leave.”

“How… how did you escape?” Bae asked, and she swallowed back her tears.

Her face twisted, but she wouldn’t cry. She didn’t want to wake up her brothers, she didn’t want to… to what? She had to tell them, they had a right to know that, the next night, the Shadow would come back for one of them, and would take him away from her and everyone and make him a Lost Boy.

“He let me go,” she said simply, proud of herself for not bursting into tears. “Because he didn’t want me,” she added, feeling her voice choke on itself. She didn’t want to think about it, she didn’t want to remember this. She lifted her eyes to her brothers. “He wanted a boy. He’s coming back tonight to take one of my brothers in my place,” she blurted the sentence out before she felt the first tear fall from the corner of her eye.

“How does he know about them?”

Wendy bit her lip, choking out a sob as she started to fully realize what was going to happen. This was all her fault, wasn’t it? “I told him about them,” she admitted, turning back to face him, remembering the conversations. The countless conversations she had with Peter, where he told her about Neverland, about him being a star traveler and the different worlds he had visited, and she told him about London. About her lessons and her life without magic. And her brothers. “You said magic was bad and you were right, Bae. It’s going to destroy my fa-”

“No.” Bae interrupted her, his voice sounding so firm compared to hers, so decided, as if he already knew it wouldn’t happen. The assurance calmed her, a little, and her sobbing died down. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you or this family.”

Wendy smiled and nodded at him, and took his hand when he offered it. She trusted him, he wouldn’t let John or Michael become a Lost Boy. He wouldn’t let her prim and proper little brother, or dear Michael, who was barely four years of age, be taken away and taught to fight, sleep on the ground and ambush pirates.

“What will we do?” she asked softly, her hand squeezing his before letting go.

“I don’t know yet,” Bae admitted as the house started to wake up and Wendy overheard Mother’s shoes on the carpet, “but when tonight comes, we’ll be ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> If you have any questions, or want to say hi, or gush with/at me about anything really, or let me know what you think of the fic so far, feel free to leave a comment or a message on my [tumblr](https://melimelo-ao3.tumblr.com/)!  
> I post aesthetic for each chapter, that you'll find with the #Amandi Aes too  
> Thank you for reading :)


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